


Were the Stars Aligned

by Knight_fall



Series: A Love of Ice and Fire [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Lyanna Is Alive, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Bittersweet, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, POV Female Character, Romance, Tourney at Harrenhal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 173,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4277925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight_fall/pseuds/Knight_fall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begins with the Tourney at Harrenhal, follows canon at first, with some exceptions. Can those exceptions mean a difference between life and death? How will things unfold from that end on out? Do some things stay the same after all? Can star-crossed lovers burn with the same passion for each other and yet remain out of sad books of history?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

„But Father!“ Benjen desperately cried out, more than determined to make sure he was not the one left behind.

„There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You're staying.“ His father's icy stare reinforced his point and Benjen just sighed.

„Then I shall stay instead.“ Lyanna cut in firmly, there in moral support of her brother.

She very much felt for him in his desire to come along with her and their brothers. It was probably the first and last trip across the country they would ever take together. After the tourney of Harrenhal, everything would change. Their oldest brother Brandon was betrothed to be married, and she was about to be as well. It was part of the reason she was willing to sacrifice her place in the fold.

She would rather stay behind in Winterfell and ride away the last days of her girlhood than strut around in expensive dresses for the eyes and attention of a man whose attention she didn't want. She would have to do that anyway, but for as long as it could have been avoided...

„You're going. You are going to meet your betrothed. And don't you wish to see your brother?“ Lyanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of her betrothal, but the thought of her brother softened her heart.

It was true, she missed Ned. She hadn't seen him since he was sent away to fostering in the Eyrie. Which was where he met Robert Baratheon as his ward brother. _If only he had never gone, this betrothal would never be set to happen._

„But I want to see Ned too.“ Pouted Benjen and now it was their father's turn to sigh. Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North and yet his children played him like a harp.

„Fine, than I shall stay behind.“ Their father grudgingly agreed, thinking to himself that maybe it was for the best. He wasn't one for grand tournaments, and even though he wanted to use the opportunity to get better acquainted with the political situation in the capital, his raven correspondence would work just as well. He didn't have the heart to deny his children, and especially not Lya and Benjen. The youngest two, joined at the hip and always ready to pout and emotionally blackmail him to the point of exhaustion.

Now they were both grinning, first at each other and then they crushed him into a hug, expressing their gratitude.

„Go on then.“ Their father ordered as he kissed both their heads and they ran out, racing each other to the barns, with Lyanna beating her brother by a hair and hurriedly mounting her horse.

Lord Rickard could never wonder enough at his daughter. Her willful nature and incredible desire to do everything she would see her brothers do frustrated and scared him to a point, but it also brought him a certain feeling of pride. Either way, even if she was difficult at times, his daughter held a special place in his heart. Rickard sighed silently, taking a seat and wondering if things would have been different had his wife lived.

* * *

 

„My Prince, all the preparations for our journey have been made.“ A clear and confident voice of his closest friend and advisor drifted to his ears. Rhaegar leaned back on his heels as he observed a scene through the window; a bronze-tanned darkhaired woman leaving the royal carriages. He pulled the curtain back and turned around.

„Very well. This journey will be the start of something great.“ Although Rhaegar's words were vague, both him and Ser Arthur Dayne knew what they referred to. Some things weren't meant to be said out loud, even if everyone thought them. Rhaegar knew that better than anyone, that keeping up appearances was what largely being a ruler was about. His father's own example taught him that. Any man who had to tell rather than show he is king, was no true king at all.

„There however is a small issue.“ The knight continued in a low voice, his purple eyes shining with regret.

A frown sprung on Rhaegar's pretty features. „What's the issue, pray tell?“

„The King has decided to join us. He wishes to witness the Tourney at Harrenhal.“

Rhaegar shook his head. Out of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was one that he did not expect to do so. „The man had not left the Red Keep for years. What prompted him to this, and now?“

Arthur understood the disappointment in his friend's voice. It was a great effort possibly going down the drain. With the Mad King obsessively watching, hardly any of his plans could have been furthered. „It is not known my Prince. It is possible some rumors have reached him. You will have to be careful in how you proceed.“

Rhaegar sighed, taking a seat behind his desk. He flipped some papers he had there mindlessly. „Everything else in working order?“

The other knight shifted his weight on heels, softly intoning. „Princess Elia had also requested some help with preparations. I have already made sure it is provided. She has also been concerning herself with arrangements for Princess Rhaenys.“

Rhaegar's eyes lifted from his desk. „Rhaenys? Is there anything else I need to know about that? 'Tis hardly the first time she will be left in care of other people.“

Arthur soothed the concern away.“'Tis nothing, My Prince. You know how Princess Elia is, a dutiful woman. She is just making sure your daughter is left in the best hands possible.“

Rhaegar just nodded, eyes trailing over the thick wooden desk, seeking out his favorite quill and black ink. If his father would make this harder on him, then he might as well drown in his princely duties while he could. The tourney would now surely be a waste of time.

Sensing his presence was no longer needed, the other man concluded. „We are scheduled to leave tomorrow morning as you requested. With your permission, My Prince.“ Arthur deeply bowed and turned to take his leave, his white cloak waving after him like a banner.

* * *

 

„You know, we're getting pretty close, maybe you should jump into that carriage with your handmaidens?“ Brandon  grinned as his sister turned to give him a deadly stare. Their younger brother just laughed from behind them, having a bit of a hard time holding up to his siblings in their horsemanship skill.

„Maybe you should.“ Lyanna shot back dryly. „I have some dresses that would look lovely on you, refine your manners and maybe you'll be the one to trap Lord Baratheon's heart.“

„I doubt I'm his type.“ Brandon narrowed his eyes back at her. „Dress is worth nothing unless underneath there's a ...“ His voice got cut off as his horse stood back on its former two legs, propping the young Lord into air. Firmly holding onto the reins of the neighing animal, he managed to calm it. However, by the time he had settled back in his pace, his sister already took her leave, leading way ahead of him. She turned and a sound of a bright laugh was heard and then the challenge.

„Maybe you should speak less and race more, if you're not afraid you're going to lose.“

„Me? Afraid? The only reason I won't race you is because I would fear humiliating you, my dear sister.“ Her brother was riling her up without cause and they both knew it. It hadn't been once that Brandon had to make a serious effort to outrun her, and last couple of their races left them in a tie and him in bouts of heavy breathing.

Lyanna looked at him with mock incredulousness. „Humiliate me? I'm but a mere maid, I couldn't possibly find offense at being bested by a lord such as yourself.“

Brandon scowled, trying to hide his amusement. „Fine, but you asked for it.“

„Oh I did.“ Was her reply as his sister dug her heels into her beast and practically flew away ahead in gallop, signifying the start of their race. Not one to be left behind, Brandon did the same, only looking back to their younger brother who surely had better business to do than chase after them, and would meet them at the finish line. At Harrenhal.

* * *

 

„Calm down.“ Came the stern advice of his friend as the bulky Stormlord paced about the same spot for some odd minutes. He stopped, turning around and taking a look at Eddard's calm face, but it didn't do much to still his own internal state.

„I cannot wait to meet your sister, Ned. You've told me so much about her and...“

Eddard took a deep breath, thinking his friend was the one who needed to do so. "And you need to take it easy. You don't know Lyanna, the minute she smells blood...“

This had Robert's bright blue eyes widened, looking back at him in almost panic.

Ned uncomfortably shuffled his feet. „I don't mean it like that. She is just...a bit difficult, I already told you that. Just act normally, like you do with me, and you will be fine. Just know there's no falsely impressing her. If I were you, I wouldn't even try to put on an act.“ He concluded. 

The young Stormlord blinked in acceptance, he was never one to lack success with women. They seemed to throw themselves at him any chance they got, and Robert did not quite shy away from boasting of his conquests. But this lady he was waiting for, she wasn't just any woman. She was Ned's sister, and she was his future wife. This surely would be a more difficult task, impressing her.

It made her all the more appealing in Robert's eyes; the woman who was to be his wife should not be some easy to impress, silly girl. But the strong she-wolf, that was the woman that would carry his children. That made his face brighten, and even more as he saw the Stark banners drifting in the distance. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, any minute now, he would lay his eyes on her.

It happened even sooner than he thought for in the next minute, a shining dark banner of long hair could be noted in the distance, signaling a pretty maid ahead of all the other riders.

„Gods be good, what is she doing.“ Ned sighed beside him, his grey eyes fixed in the same direction as his friend's. Robert just swallowed hard, he felt his heart was about to burst with excitement at the notion of the glorious she-wolf who so effortlessly cut through the air on her horse, her curly hair and grey skirts flowing around her in the wind.

The firmness of his gaze on her didn't dwindle even as she brought her beast to a halt but a few feet away from them. She quickly dismounted and ran to her brother's arms in a huff of furs, leather and grey cotton that her Northern style riding dress was made of. Only then Robert blinked and noted the other man, who was surely their older brother, riding right behind her.

„You are Lord Baratheon, are you not?“ The other young man inquired, his dark eyes slitted as he intently observed him. Robert nodded his head, reaching out to shake the hand of the wild wolf as he dismounted.

„And you are Brandon Stark. 'Tis a pleasure, I have heard so much about you.“

„I bet you heard a lot more about someone else.“ Brandon remarked mockingly as he passed the reins of his horse to a stable boy, one who had approached at noting their arrival.

The response had Robert's enthusiasm lessen, but only for a second. The moment his gaze was back at the Northern lady who was more beautiful than even Ned's quite generous words could relay, his heart was back to working overtime. She didn't seem to notice him though, smiling and hugging her brother again. She must have missed him and it made Robert feel even more for her, she would be this loyal to him one day. And more.

She turned around and nodded with a grin in Brandon's direction. „Who would have thought you would lose. And in front of Ned, now I have a witness. Maybe if I tell Father he'll disinherit you and leave Winterfell to me.“

Brandon just made a mocking face, clearly irked that he lost. He was just about to make the excuse of her having that admittedly small headstart but Ned cut in between them.

„Lya, this is Lord Robert Baratheon.“ Lyanna turned around and her eyes fell on the other man; apart from his rather strong physicality, she noted the other man's face relayed a certain eagerness. Surely not at the prospect of meeting her. Edges of his jet dark hair decorated a forehead above a rather red face, with two piercing blue eyes shining as they scrutinised her with a peculiar persistence.

„Lyanna Stark.“ She introduced herself casually as she extended her hand to him, surprised when he pulled it closer to him and placed a wet kiss on her knuckles.

„My lady, I am most honored to meet you.“ His eyes shied away from her, as if she was the sun. Something about it irritated Lyanna, she didn't want this man to worship her like a dumb statue.

„Pleasure is all mine.“ She remarked dryly as her arms fell back beside her body, and she turned back to her brothers, seeing Benjen who joined his older siblings in the meantime.

Thinking about giving his friend some time to collect his impressions, Ned put an arm around her sister.„So, you beat Brandon, huh? I knew you would some day. He was the last of your competition in Winterfell.“

„That he was.“ Lyanna confirmed with a rise of her brows. That earned her Brandon slipping behind her and pulling on her dark tresses. Not one to be too long in debt, she shoved him back, elbow precisely placed into his ribs. It was nothing more than a typical display of affection among siblings.

Ned's eyes, however, seemed to scold Brandon, likely referring to their friend's presence but Brandon was not the one to pay any mind. Like he or his sister should put on a show for this guy. If he wanted her, he better want her the way she is. And judging by the shining blaze in his eyes, he did. Had he been any other man, Brandon would have gone mad with the stares he was affording Lyanna.

But considering all of this was approved by Lord Father, and this Robert would one day be her betrothed and then her husband, Brandon hesitated pulling him by his collar and introducing him to his fist, as he would have done with anyone else.


	2. The Battle of Sigils

As the seats were being filled for the first day and the opening of the jousting competition, the four young wolves along with a stag found their place in the audience as well. Lyanna held her place in the stands between her oldest and youngest brother, while Ned sat alongside Benjen and Robert. That however, did not stop Brandon from speaking over his younger siblings all the way over to his sister's soon-to-be-betrothed, using the opportunity of getting to know him and riling him up just a bit.

Brandon had found no more joy in Lyanna's betrothal than he did in his own to Catelyn Tully. Although he couldn't say he knew Robert Baratheon in the way his younger brother did, no man was worthy of his sister or of her leaving Winterfell.

The fact she herself didn't seem very enthusiastic about the whole ordeal made Brandon feel he was justified in his ways of poking light jabs and lightening the situation for everyone. Robert's seeming incomprehension and a lessened way with words whenever he was in Lyanna's presence made it all the more amusing for him.

„So Robert, will you be competing in the jousts?“ The wild wolf asked, his eyes narrowing into questioning slits.

Robert cleared his throat and answered. „Uhm no, I don't believe I will. Jousting is not my strongest suit. I much prefer the melee.“

„Alright.“ Brandon flippantly retorted and Lyanna hit him lightly on the arm, very well aware of what he was doing.

Not that she particularly cared about how her brother got along with this man, she knew it all to be a jest anyway. However, Lyanna did not wish to create unnecessary tension either, a situation in which her impending betrothal would have to be brought up anymore than it had to be. As far as she was concerned, Robert was Ned's friend and that was why he was staying in their vicinity.

„Uhm my lady, if you were to be present to one of my matches, it would be a great honor.“ Started Robert a bit unsure of himself, but he had been planning on asking her for a while now, gathering his wits about how to approach her. It seemed like a good opportunity to do so now that her brother had brought the subject up. When Lyanna didn't answer right away nor looked at him, Robert turned his confused gaze to Ned, whose grey eyes seemed to silently council patience.

„Just call me Lyanna.“ She hissed under her breath.

Robb's eyes seemed to have sparkled at what he hoped was an implied notion of closeness and Brandon caught the seeming enthusiasm.

„She tells everyone that.“ He jabbed and Ned turned his icy stare toward his older brother now.

„I think I will stick to watching jousting. My brother here thought it wise to challenge no one less than the crown prince, what kind of sister would I be if I were to miss him getting knocked back down on his butt?“ Asked Lyanna turning her grin toward Brandon and he couldn't help but smile as well, his hand ruffling her hair hard in the next moment.

Robert sulked back in his seat as Lyanna and Brandon continued bantering back and forth, seeing he was mostly ignored by the she-wolf that occupied his heart. He had hoped she would show some interest in him and although she wasn't rude, she wasn't warming up to him either. _A block of ice._

* * *

 

„Look at her, what does he see in her? Spiteful unlady-like creature.“ Cersei spat, the venom clear on her tongue. The golden lioness barred her teeth as she observed the scene that unfolded in front of her, one that involved the Stark siblings and their newest companion from Storm's End. Brandon Stark boasted as he argued with his sister about something; their youngest brother threw glimpses from one to the other, eyes sparkling and a smirk on his face, throwing in the right words at the right time to exacerbate their squabble.

Their fourth sibling, Ned held his seat beside them, grey eyes calm and fixed on the preparations for the jousting competition that were taking place. Robert Baratheon sat next to him, the boasty stag that had befriended the quiet wolf. Although, in the presence of the she-wolf, he was the one who had turned quiet by all the accounts.

„Calm down, dear sister.“ Whispered her brother in her ear, no less a lion than herself. „I thought you didn't even like him, what is your problem?“

Although she in her red dress embedded with gold threads and lion markings was the true visual embodiment of her house, Jaime's posture and the air of arrogance around him was a different manifestation of it. The golden twins, a glint in their father's eye unlike their younger brother, were regarded as a true sight to behold and Cersei was the one who mostly enjoyed it. Which was why, what was losing in her mind, was not easy to accept.

Cersei's brows rose, and so did her voice. „I don't. I just cannot believe my father offered him my hand and he rejected him for...her.“

A small smirk could be noted to have appeared on her twin's face. „What's wrong with her? You might not like her, but she _is_ fair.“ The way Cersei looked at him, Jaime thought he shouldn't have said that.

„She behaves like a boy. What's so attractive about that?“

„You should be glad. Now Lyanna Stark will be the lady of Storm's End instead of you, and will have to receive her whoring husband smelling of liquor into her bed every night. Although...from the looks of it, she would sooner cut him than let him touch her. And you have me.“ Cooed Jaime in her ear as his hand held a tight grip on her elbow. He seemed to have squeezed more than she was comfortable with considering her expression had contorted into one of displeasure.

She jerked her arm away, and looked angrily back at her brother, golden tresses spilling over her shoulders. „I do not have you! Have you forgotten you're in the Kingsguard? You will leave for the capital, and I will remain the maid of Casterly Rock forever.“ She raised her voice and Jaime shushed her, they were in public after all which was the only thing stopping him from taking her mind off the topic in different ways.

„You are no maid, dear sister.“ Jaime retorted with a sneer on his lips and it took everything in her power not to raise her hand on him. Instead, she took a deep breath and corrected her posture.

„Maybe not, but the rest of the world doesn't know that. And it will stay that way.“

It was a thing they could both agree upon. Their affair was to be kept from the public eyes, as much as it was to be continued.

„That doesn't change the fact that I will be left alone with that monster of our brother.“ She finished her thought and exhaled, awakening a trail of pity in Jaime for their younger sibling. It seemed to be the one point of disagreement for them, but Jaime felt it was more important to stay in his sister's good graces than to push the subject.

Her twin's voice was one of calm and dismissal. „No you won't. We will persuade Father to find you a position in the court as well. Maybe you can be of service to the silver dragon's wife.“

„Father will never agree.“ Replied Cersei hoarsely, as she twirled her hands in her lap. „He hates the King for humiliating him. He hates him for taking his heir.“

„Then we will find a way for him to agree.“ Jaime said lightly, his green eyes caressing her skin. Cersei sometimes wondered just where the over-confidence came from. She faked it well enough, but it seemed to be a natural trait in Jaime. 

Just as she had taken to rising from her seat with an intention of bringing Jaime along for a walk, Cersei was knocked back down by a heedless boy, who upon the second glance was no one else but the youngest Stark sibling. She looked back down her mouth gaping, seeing the edge of her dress was soiled by the contact with his boot.

Before Benjen had time to turn and give his apologies, Cersei's sharp grasp on his arm snapped him around as if he weighed no more than a few pounds. „What do you think you are doing? This isn't a stable, or a field beyond the Wall. Watch your step.“

Benjen's eyes grew, in surprise or scare not even he quite knew. What he did know was that he would rather not find himself again on the lioness' path. Her sharp green eyes burned into him with disgust and scowl.

„Calm down, I'm sure it was just an accident.“ Cooed Jaime in her ear, barely acknowledging to the boy.

Cersei might have been able to let this slide, if she hadn't been in the poorest of moods for the entirety of the day. She turned her burning attention back to her twin. „I don't care if it was an accident, you're just going to let this little drool run over your sister?“

„Watch how you speak about my brother.“ The clear and seemingly unaffected voice snapped Cersei's head back and she was face-to-face with the girl she had just spent the better part of the afternoon watching with distaste. Lyanna's grey eyes burned into hers, as her hands made their way to her brother's shoulders in a protective gesture.

Cersei swallowed hard, this was just what she needed. The Stark girl, who acted more like she was a daughter of some dirty commoner than the Warden of the North. Cersei now understood why her father didn't have too much respect for the Northerners, saying they were shielded away in their winter fortress, cut away from the world and civilization.

No wonder they held to their nature Gods like the savages beyond the Wall, it was just what could have been expected. If this girl was their equivalent of a princess, Cersei shuddered to imagine how people of lesser standing than her behaved.

And yet, she was irked by the Northern girl, cause despite her intense dislike of her, Cersei could not find a single fault with her face. She was old enough and pretty enough to attract a proper man's stare, and yet her wide eyes and lean figure left no doubt of youth and innocence. Her dress had been ugly and her dark curls hadn't been properly brushed, but her skin was beautifully pale, just with a touch of a soft blush on her cheeks.

Looking her up and down, Cersei's emerald eyes settled back on her face. „Maybe you should teach your brother to behave. Or maybe you should all go back to where you came from, where that kind of behavior is acceptable.“

Lyanna's brows rose and she replied, not missing a beat. „Oh really? Maybe you should go back to where it is acceptable to be an entitled, spoiled bitch.“  

Cersei snorted correcting her posture, in part amused and in part glad this girl was giving her a chance to say her due. „Last time I checked, your house was the one who had a wolf as their sigil. If you're looking for a bitch, you should look no further than yourself.“

„It is a direwolf.“ Lyanna deadpanned as she moved, leaving her brother behind her back and moving closer to Cersei. Her icy grey eyes looked straight through her, or at least it seemed that way to the lioness. Sensing one of them was about to rip the other one's hair out, although the bet on who would first start was still in the air, Jaime cut in between them.

„Let us calm down, we can all be friends. The lion, the direwolf, what does it matter? Dear sister, play nice?“ The twins shared a glare and Lyanna's eyes were now on Jaime trying to figure out where he stood in all of this; he seemed like the more reasonable of the two, but that wasn't much of a compliment considering.

„Ugh.“ Was Cersei's only reply, as she pulled him by his sleeve and they made their way out of the stands in the opposite direction.

Lyanna and Benjen just shared a look, in the next moment bursting into laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we meet the lions in this chapter. Here a bit of canon-divergence comes into play, Cersei and Jaime are present at Harrenhal. I felt it would be a shame to leave them out of this. :)


	3. A Lady's Sword

The sun was setting and the darkness was descending upon the skies of Harrenhal as Lyanna and Benjen strolled back from the final happenings of the day. Heading toward the camping tents, the two siblings decided on a route through the godswood. There would be a dinner held in the Great Hall, and Lyanna had taken advantage of the fact, citing her need to prepare as an excuse. Of course, that excuse had been everything but believable to her brothers who knew her all too well to hold her for a maiden of the sort to take hours on end to find a perfect dress, and to Robert, who was starting to learn. The fact she had taken Benjen with her should have been an obvious clue to him.

Lyanna wasn't actively trying to deter him although every bone in her body screamed for her to do so. She knew that would bring shame to her father, something she didn't want to do. There, however, would be little shame if Robert had simply noted her natural disposition, and decided she wasn't a right match for him. That was what Lyanna wanted with all her heart, but deep down knew this betrothal was set to happen.

She could feel herself choke on her own thoughts until Benjen's voice drifted over to her, snapping her out of them. „Lyanna why are you so sulky?“

„I am not sulky.“ Warned Lyanna in a less than enthusiastic voice.

Unconvinced that his sister wasn't indeed brooding, Benjen continued with a slight quality of mock to his voice. „You so are. It's about the Lord of the Melee, is it not?“

Lyanna just sent a killing look his way that said she didn't want to talk about it. But he was her younger brother, she would almost say her favorite brother, except she thought that of all her brothers at least once. Brandon when he defended her with a ferocity that rivaled the actual beasts that were the sigil of their house, Ned when he offered his affection and advice, calm and thoughtful as ever. Benjen was decidedly the one she was closest with, riding and jousting in secret, hours on end. He was also the one in whom she confided the most of her thoughts.

„Nay, it isn't about him specifically. If Ned likes him, there must be something to him. Just not for me. I don't want to leave Winterfell. I don't want to leave you. I doubt Lord Robert is going to spar swords with me or even allow me to do so.“ Admitted Lyanna grudgingly and her brother threw his arm around her shoulders in an affectionate gesture.

„You're not going anywhere. If they try to marry you off, we'll run away together. Become the greatest hedge knights the world had ever seen. You know you've got it and with a little practice, I can become as good. Just imagine, the Stark sers.“

Lyanna chuckled, her brother always had a way of lightening up her mood. Although she knew better than to immerse herself in such a fantasy, it felt better just to think about something else. If anything, she wasn't married to Robert _right now._ With that thought and a smirk, she pulled her brother by his hand, diverging slightly off the path even though they had almost reached the camp.

 

* * *

 

„So why are we up here?“ Grinned Benjen as he balanced his weight on a tree branch, trying to make his way even closer to his sister. Lyanna on the other hand, fought the heavy skirts of her dress more than she fought the considerable height she was set on conquering. Once on the tallest branch of the tree and Benjen right behind her, she sighed and settled herself again a knot two of the branches formed around each other.

„We are going to see what everyone is up to.“ Returned Lyanna as she squinted and focused her eyes on the grounds around the tent camp, which could be seen from their spot with some effort.

First to catch her eye were two ladies strolling in a steady pace, with their arms intertwined. Both of them had long dark tresses flowing freely from their shoulders, one seemed to have light glowy skin complemented well by her violet gown.The other one was bronze-tanned and had a beautiful smile, Lyanna couldn't help but notice even from the distance. The long skirts of their lavish gowns flowed freely around them.  Lyanna wasn't sure who they were.

„Oh hey, that's the princess.“ Claimed Benjen with excitement.

Lyanna tossed a surprised glance his way.„How would you know something like that?“

Benjen just shrugged his shoulders. „I was eavesdropping while you were getting your horse into the stables. She was talking to someone, Cersei Lannister was her name I think.“

Lyanna shook her head, a laugh bubbling on her lips. „I don't know what the princess' name is, but she's not a Lannister for sure. Or if she is, I feel sorry for the prince already.“ Lyanna quipped, their encounter with the Lannisters of their own from earlier still fresh in her mind. She had no idea of their names, but between their attitude and the woman's dress, their House was hard to miss. And her brother mentioned something about lions.

„Not the princess, the blonde bitch woman from today. That's who I saw her talking to. The princess is Elia of Dorne.“ Clarified Benjen and his sister again just shook her head. It seemed Benjen had a greater gift than her in this aspect. Maybe he should have been born a girl, he would have done a better job at it that she would have. Although she wouldn't wish that curse on anyone.

„She is married to the silver dragon prince.“ Benjen continued. „People say he is prettier than her.“

Lyanna snorted upon the remark falling on her ears, wondering at the things that seemed to amuse other people. Such trivial, vapid observations were frowned upon in the North unless said in a jest. The South however, had a reputation for vanity.

„What, you don't think it's true? I have seen him, and I have to say they are not wrong.“ Benjen wiggled his eyebrows. „Maybe he could thaw that ice around you, if Robert Baratheon can't already.“

Lyanna resisted the urge to hit her little brother, the fact they were both on a tree they could easily fall out of made her feel that was not a good idea. Her face fell and she sighed with a small hint of vulnerability, so unlike herself. „You too now? I get enough of that from Brandon.“

Benjen frowned, attempting to repair the damage of mentioning Robert. „I'm just saying the prince is good-looking. Dear sister, play nice?“ He mocked, not able to keep a chuckle out of his voice.

It seemed to have worked for Lyanna let out a bark of a laugh.„That was some encounter, right?“A soft sigh made it past her lips as her laughter dwindled.„I'd take a skilled warrior over a perfumed princeling any day. What would you know about it?“ She returned, now watching her brother with a sort of incredulousness.

 „He _is_ a skilled warrior. And so is...well you know who. You don't seem to pay him much mind. Well for one, they don't call him the silver prince for nothing. He also has the purplest eyes I've ever seen. But that might be because I have never before seen anyone with purple eyes... seriously, if I were a maid...„

„Shhh.“ Lyanna interrupted him, putting a hand up.

„What?“

„Just shut up.“ She said resolutely, her brows furrowing in concentration. Her ears picked up on what had sounded like a distant grunt, and now they could both clearly hear at least two men shouting. There had been a scuffle going on.

* * *

 

„Ah please stop, it hurts.“ The sounds of repeated kicking and gasping could be heard as Lyanna and Benjen looked at each other and hurried toward the source. Then, as plain as day, they could see three squires gathered around a slight dark-haired figure, curling into itself. Lyanna's jaw stiffened at the sight in anger. If there was anything she hated in the world, it was strong preying on the weak.

In the next second, she saw an opportunity present itself. As two of the squires looked up to take in the newcomers, the third was too busy kicking a man Lyanna realized in all her horror that she recognized. She tackled the third squire and before he knew what came over him, Lyanna backed off and his unsheathed sword was at his neck.

„That's my father's man you're kicking.“ Lyanna yelled and Benjen could see the paled expressions on the other two man's faces as all three of them moved out of her range. Granted, if she were just a random commoner, drawing a sword might not have been enough and a brawl would ensue. However, the squires had an immediate idea of her highborn status just by looking at hers and Benjen's clothing which prompted them to instant retreat.

Looking around, Lyanna saw a couple of spectators gather around, likely drawn over by the shouts. Unconvincingly concealing their laughs and mocks, they ridiculed the poor creature who had a need for a lady coming to his defense.

„What are you gaping at?“ She growled and the crowd of gathered squires looking for cheap entertainment slowly dispersed, seeing the show was over.

Lyanna just sighed, digging the sword into the ground as she leaned onto it and crouched down, close to the frightened dark haired figure. At first glance she thought it was just a boy, no more than two-and-ten but now she recalled it was a young man called Howland Reed, of short stature and peculiar appearance like most crannogmen. His dark shiny eyes opened and he looked at her. Taking her hand, he quickly righted himself, attempting to straighten out his soiled clothes.

„My lady of Stark, I can't thank you enough.“ Lyanna sat back stunned that this man knew her name. Her knowing Howland had been an accident of fate, she had no idea it was mutual.

She stammered. „There's no need for thanks. I did what anyone would do. It's those men that are assholes for assaulting you.“

„That, they are.“ Howland quipped as his gaze turned to Benjen. He gave him a small bow. „Lord Stark.“

Benjen felt oddly flattered, more often than not, he was overshadowed by the presence of his older brothers who would be the addressed lords, while he was just a faithful sidekick. Much like he was to his sister, so it felt nice to get some recognition.

„This is Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, one of our father's most important bannermen.“ Lyanna introduced and Benjen gasped, he just as well thought his sister was lying for leverage when she said he was their father's man.

Howland still seemed uncomfortable, as he shifted from one leg to the other. Lyanna could tell he was in some kind of pain, at the very least his ribs were bruised from all those kicks. He seemed shy as he spoke, still looking down at his boots.

„My lady, you have my gratitude, I am in your debt forever. But if you'll excuse me, I need to go. My lord.“ Howland bowed and turned to leave, Lyanna caught his arm.

„No please, wait. You'll have to allow us to accompany you back to our tent. You need to get checked out.“ Lyanna pleaded with the young man and he looked at her hesitantly.

„Please it would be my honor.“ Lyanna insisted.

The young man's lips tightened in incertitude.„My lady, I would hate to take up any more of your time...“

„It is no bother. We weren't doing anything anyway, right Benjen?“ Lyanna's eyes turned to her brother who confirmed her words with a nod of his head. She continued. „Actually there's a dinner in the Great Hall that we're supposed to go to, but we would be honored if you would come with us. It's a promised drag, we might as well have decent company.“

„If it would please my lady.“ Was Howland's quiet answer.

„It would. And please just call us by our names.“ Lyanna sought out his eyes and he smiled, still shy but somewhat emboldened by the warm welcome.

 With that, Howland was pulled between the two Stark siblings and the three dark-haired figures made their way back to the tents. Lyanna carried her newly acquired weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Benjen meet Howland. I know there has been very little Rhaegar, but I'm keeping this Lyanna-centric for now because I wanted some exposition on her relationship with her brothers and her attitude toward her betrothal. I hope it's not too tedious; I promise the pace will be picking up soon enough. And please, tell me what you think!


	4. Blue Blood, Red Rose

„I would defend myself, I would.“ Lamented Howland to himself, momentarily paying little mind to his company. Lyanna and Benjen looked at one another, equal parts amused at their new friend who managed to find relaxation in his cup of wine and upset about the injury his dignity took that evening.

„Why don't you challenge their Lords to a joust? It would be a great way to defend your honor.“ Asked Benjen innocently and Howland shook his head, taking another gulp of the red liquid.

„Because I'm an awful rider and I don't think I've ever properly held a lance. It matters not, it will just stay this way. Though I'll make sure not to get lost in the woods by myself in the future.“ He replied with a wistful sigh.

 Lyanna gritted her teeth, in part listening to the conversation and in part seething inside at the lustful looks Robert Baratheon sent her way from the opposite table, the wine obviously having an effect on him too. Except in his case, it made him into an impertinent drunken fool who was now regarding her looks way too openly for any seeming of innocence or decency.

It made her remember the stories that cruised around Winterfell, the few that stuck to her ear despite her attempts of not giving them importance. Mainly ones about how the bulky Stormlord had despite his young age already fathered a bastard. Not wanting to believe it, Lyanna tried with all her might to see the man her brother seemed to see. Instead, the image in her mind's eye was one of future filled with a stink of alcohol breath and endless humiliation.

Robert's eyes still on her, Lyanna silently cursed the dress she was wearing. Her handmaidens had insisted on having her tight-fitted into a dark red Southron-style gown with a tight bodice in a semblance of a corset. It was one of her newer dresses, one her father had gifted her right before the trip.

Oh, how much she would give to skim away and change into a random dirty rag, anything to make her less appealing and more able to take a decent breath.

Breaking the unpleasant eye contact, Lyanna searched for her brothers. Ned was easy enough to spot at another table, presumably greeting some petty lords as father had commanded Bradon to do. Her eldest brother had every intention of passing his commitments to Ned, enjoying a warm embrace of a willing lady instead. Lyanna could see him flirt even from here as an easily recognizable maid twirled in his arms, the soft skirts of her deep violet dress effortlessly brushing the dancing floor. Her beautiful face was lit up in laughs and smiles, pearl white teeth blinding as the lady herself seemed more than acceptant of Bradon's undeniable charm. 

Feeling her attention drawn to the background, Lyanna's gaze inadvertently trailed over to the royal table set on a dais behind. With a bit of reluctance, she glanced towards the figure ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

The Mad King's indigo eyes shone with an unusual intensity and seemed to mercilessly scrutinize their environment. Long yellow nails that showed from under the sumptuous gilded sleeves of his attire made a small shiver of fear trail up her spine.

The King seemed to possess the typical features the Dragonlords were known for: shining deep indigo eyes that one could hardly believe could be in possession of a human, and silver tresses that gave off the impression of being made of finest silk. Although, in the Mad King's case, they seemed to contribute to his scary appearance as opposed to giving him any trace of beauty so many Targaryens were famous for. 

At his side, Prince Rhaegar left a different impression: his posture suggested a guarded, cold exterior. The only thing not fitting the picture were his deep, dark-violet eyes that unlike the Mad King's seemed to carry a certain sadness. Lyanna could understand why people referred to his beauty. Deep in thought, he was calmly seated but his body seemed stiff, like he dreaded having to sit next to the Mad King, or on display, or both.

„What do you think Lyanna?“ Her brother's voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she turned around.

„Don't you think Howland should at least attempt to joust for his honor? He says he's never done it before, but...“

Lyanna just shook her head. „Don't bother him, he said he doesn't feel right doing it. Anyway, most of the jousting is just riding, if he isn't a good rider...“ Lyanna stopped mid-track as an insane idea occurred to her. _Could I? I could._

Lyanna gulped at the thought, she imagined herself donning armor, fighting for an honorable cause. _Just like a true knight._ Would she ever in her life have a chance like this again?

„I'm a decent rider though.“ She added shyly.

„Lyanna, I wouldn't feel comfortable asking you, you have already...“

„No Howland, you don't get it, she's underselling it.“ Benjen grinned as his spoke a bit too loudly, excited by the prospect. Lyanna hushed him and they drew closer, not to attract any unwanted attention.

„She's not just decent, she is great. Roose Bolton called her a centaur once. Have you ever known that man to give compliments?“

Like most people in the Seven Kingdoms, Howland was familiar with Lord Bolton's stony and cold, almost ruthless exterior.

„I want to do it, if you'll allow me to fight for your honor.“ Said Lyanna simply. Seeing the unusually intense spark in her eyes that betrayed her own excitement, Howland knew this was a favor for her as much as it was for him.  A small nod settled it and Benjen squealed in excitement. A small devilish grin broke out on Lyanna's lips as she spoke in a low tone, just for the two of them to hear.

„Actually, we'll do it. I will need both of your help. Tomorrow, a knight of unknown identity will show up to the jousts, and challenge the rider for House Haigh. And if I win, we'll see how we go from there.“ Benjen squirmed in his seat, already going through scenarios in his head of how they could acquire armor for the mysterious knight. Lyanna would surely require a horse, armor and jousting equipment. He couldn't even imagine the excitement of seeing his sister from the stands, being the only one in the know as she won. _And she will win._

Occupied by their idea, they bantered back and forth in whispers for a better half of an hour, their surroundings all but forgotten until a young man of black hair and piercing blue eyes came into view.

Eyes snapping up, Lyanna took in the figure and dread filled her immediately. Her gaze drifted to the background and she found Ned's icy eyes softening as they looked upon her. It was like her brother was asking of her to show mercy to his friend, but the mere idea of having anything she does affect the young bulky lord unsettled her. Why was he taken with her so?

„My lady, if you could afford me this dance, it would be a great honor.“

Lyanna blinked and her hand reached out for her cup of wine. Taking a sizeable gulp that Benjen could see disappearing with force down her throat, she stood up without a word and gave the lord her hand.

* * *

 

Watching her fair purple-eyed friend spin and spin on the dancing floor in the arms of the handsome eldest Stark son, Princess Elia sighed internally. Although she felt abandoned by her, seeing how much her friend enjoyed Brandon Stark's company, she couldn't hold a grudge. Ashara was a lovely and vibrant young lady, bursting with life and energy and while it brought Elia joy to have someone like that in her vicinity, it also made her think back to her laments. She was never one for dancing her breath away into the wee hours of the night, and she doubted anyone would ever describe her as being full with life.

The Princess had been frail and sickly for ever since she could remember and although she had enough wisdom to not overextend herself, every once in a while she would indulge in self-pity over her predicament.

Now that Ashara's place at the royal table had been vacated for some time, Cersei Lannister had made her way over, offering princess Elia her company. The princess accepted with a smile; even if she wasn't very fond of the young lioness, she had no reason to slight her either. They lead a polite but void conversation that Elia found harder and harder to bear as the headache in her temple became more and more pronounced. Seeing her grimase, Cersei took her slight hand in between her own.

„My Princess, are you feeling well?“

As a high voice laced with unnecessary panic drifted to Rhaegar's ears, his head snapped around. The Prince had been sitting to Elia's right, as Lady Ashara and now Cersei occupied the seat on the left. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't spoken much and Elia had almost forgotten about his airy presence at her side. But that was typical of her husband, having him in one's vicinity wasn't often enough to have true pleasure of his company.

„Elia?“ His soft voice of concern drifted over to her; she turned around and gave him a small sad smile.

„'Tis nothing, My Prince. I just have a slight headache, is all.“

Rhaegar's dark shining eyes implored his wife's paled face with worry. „Do you wish for me to escort you to your tents?“

„Nay my Prince, you should stay. Afterall, you are not yet done for the night.“ It was true, upon learning Prince Rhaegar was going to witness the tournament, many a lords and ladies proclaimed the desire for him to grace them with one of his highly regarded harp performances. The silver harp was a symbol of the silver prince, almost as notable as his kindness and retreated nature have been.

 „It can wait another night. If you are not feeling well...“

„Maybe I can help Princess Elia back to her tents. Out of the two of us, I'm sure I will be the one less missed.“ Cersei cut in, smiling in a way that was all too plastic to be sincere.

„That would be good, lady Cersei. Excuse me, My Prince.“ Elia rose from the table and she made her way out with the golden lioness. Rhaegar just looked on with a neutral expression on his face as Ser Oswell trailed in their wake.

„Don't take it personally My Prince. I'm sure the Princess is just tired from the trip.“ Drifted the bright voice of Ser Arthur to him, along with a squeeze of a hand on his shoulder. Rhaegar motioned for Arthur to sit in Elia's previous seat.

Both men's eyes drifted over to the dance floor as they observed numerous couples twirling around, performing various steps in time with the music. Some couples were more enticing than others, and Rhaegar had noted his friend keeping an eye on his sister as she danced with Lord Stark.

„I'm sure that's nothing to worry about.“ Rhaegar mused, seeing his best friend's unreadable expression.

„Oh I am not worried. She should enjoy herself while she can, Brandon Stark will soon be wed to Catelyn Tully. I'm sure that will be a great grievance to other ladies beside my sister as well.“

Rhaegar nodded, he had heard about that particular betrothal. Mostly because it was brought up in a negative light by the king himself, who in a bout of madness started yelling how great houses are never to intermarry and it's a rebellious slight against the royal family to even think of that. When Rhaegar had pointed out he had been wed to a woman of another Great House as well, his father took it as an opportunity to belittle his mother on account of not giving him a sister to wed so they had to go as far as to marry him to the Dornish woman instead.

Thinking back to that unpleasant exchange, Rhaegar wondered why did he keep raising to bait. He looked over to the Mad King who was seated next to him on the opposite side, seeing he was in an unusually good mood. Even something resembling a smirk could be noted on his face and the Prince wondered when was the last time he had seen the King content. He did not count maniacal outbursts of laughter as show of contentment.

Sensing his Prince had drifted off into a land of unpleasant thoughts, Arthur tried to shift him back to lighthearted conversation instead.

„Although, Brandon Stark seems to be the only Stark enjoying himself on the dance floor. Lady Lyanna looks like she's about to claw the eyes out of your cousin.“

WIth the comment, Rhaegar's eyes drifted over to the lady in a blood-red gown, taking in the way her pale knuckles pressed into Robert's shoulder a bit too harshly and how she looked everything but comfortable with his hand trailing down the slope of her back. Her dark hair descended into curls, framing a narrow face with high cheekbones and wide eyes, that appeared to be grey at least from the distance. The wild beauty that the whole kingdom spoke of was undeniable, even if her expression was one of mild scowl.

Rhaegar found it odd, to his knowledge Robert Baratheon was easily regarded as one of the most desirable marriage prospects in the kingdoms. There were plenty of ladies in the Seven Kingdoms who would surely enjoy his attentions, but it seemed Lady of Stark wasn't one of them.

The tune ended and the dance stopped, unlike many of the ladies who curtsied with a smile and waited for another turn, Lady Lyanna simply nodded to her suitor and made her way back to the tables, to a younger boy Rhaegar assumed was the youngest Stark boy and Howland Reed. The crannogman that was assaulted earlier that evening and saved by the lady herself if the whispers he heard around the tents were true.

Rhaegar watched after her transfixed, until his friend's voice snapped him out of his thoughts again.

„My Prince, they are waiting for you.“

* * *

 

Lyanna took her seat back, ignoring her brother raising his eyebrows at her, it was his way of commenting on her encounter with Robert. She had given him one dance, and it was mostly for Ned's sake. Also in part her not wanting to embarrass her house, an excuse Lyanna was slowly getting tired of in her own head.

Gods be damned if she were to allow herself be dragged back to the floor again. Being pinned against Robert's bulky form, all Lyanna wanted was to slide her way out and away from his grip. His persistent, lecherous stares had not helped either.

Turning her stare back to the dance floor, she noted the crowd was uncluttering and several servants were governing the clearing of the area. Soon, a small gilded stool was set in place.

 „The silver prince is going to play his harp, and by all the stories I've heard of it, we're lucky we'll get to hear it.“ Benjen explained with a small shove to her elbow, not giving her any room for confusion.

Lyanna's gaze turned back to the royal dais, now noting the sad-eyed Prince as he slowly made his way over to the floor, his lean body in perfect posture. He carried a small silver harp in his hand, it surprised Lyanna that he didn't have a servant bring it. A strange notion came to her mind, that he might not have trusted anyone else with it. As far as Lyanna knew, a lot of musical instruments were frail, delicate things, made to be handled with utmost attention and care by people who knew how to properly play. She certainly didn't.

Benjen's jesting voice drifted over to her again. „Didn't I tell you he looks like the Gods have crafted him themselves?“ 

Lyanna shushed her brother as the lighting around the Prince dimmed enveloping him in a soft glow, creating a dusky ambient. 

Then, Rhaegar's deft fingers started tugging at the frail silver strings, producing the ethereal sound accompanied by a clear voice effortlessly drifting through air. He sang of a tower-bound wailing maid, damning the tangling threads of fate upon finding out her lover fell in battle. Soon after she welcomed her death, longing to be joined with him for all eternity.

The tragic destiny hit upon something tender in Lyanna's heart and her eyes welled with tears. She tried swallowing down the anguish that came upon her with little success. As the prince's sorrowful voice trembled like he himself mourned the ill-fated coupling, tears brimmed over from under thick eyelashes and a wet trail was left down her cheeks. Betrayed by a soft hitch of her own breath, she tried to quickly conceal the evidence of sadness but too late.

 „Lyanna, you're not actually crying, are you?“ Her brother asked with an odd glee in his voice. Lyanna, annoyed by her tender side showing simply emptied the content of her brother's wine cup onto his head and stormed out. She was grateful only a few eyes were on her as she did so, most people still enthralled by the Prince's performance.

Prince Rhaegar stayed still for some time after the end, his eyes reflecting melancholy as he stayed mesmerized by the silver strings. When he looked up, he saw a corner of red silk disappearing behind the doors.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you must have noticed, the song that Rhaegar sang was a little nod to their own sad destiny. It would probably be safe to assume Rhaegar was inspired by one of his dreams, even if he didn't know he was singing of Lyanna's life in an alternate universe ;) Similar thing with the title and her blood-red dress.


	5. A Lady's Armor

„Lyanna wake up. Lyanna.“ Her brother's insistent voice as well as his shifting weight on her bed made Lyanna snap out of her slumber. Rubbing her eyes against the sunlight, for a split second she wondered which devils had her brother possessed all of the sudden, this early in the morning.

Then she remembered last night, not with a small regret as she felt a stabbing pain in her temple. She should have been more moderate in her cups, Lyanna regretfully decided. Maybe that way she wouldn't have embarrassed herself by wailing in front of an audience, or continuing to wail as she made her way back to her tents last night. For all the scold she sent Robert Baratheon's way for his drinking habits, she made it into a fair justification for herself.

„What?“ Her husky voice snapped at him as her arm obfuscated her eyes in protection from the incessant light. She asked even though she very well knew what had her brother so excited. While she was no less eager than him last night, right now all she wanted was for him to move, shut up and to let her sleep some more. A headache surely had a way of stifling enthusiasm. 

„You know what.“ Benjen responded in a clear childish voice, too high for her current tastes. He, however, still hadn't had the sense to move off her bed or stop pulling on her sheets. Lyanna contemplated physically throwing him out, but she couldn't muster up the will.

Begrudgingly giving up as she realized her brother wasn't going to leave her alone any time soon, she righted herself, giving him a stern stare that meant he was better off lowering his voice at the very least if he wanted any cooperation from her.

Thankfully, Lyanna felt some of her strength return to her muscles as well as her brain clearing as she got up with a yawn. Her brother bounced a couple more times on her bed, yelling for her to hurry up as she made her way to her dressing trunks. That earned him another deathly stare.

„What? Howland is waiting for us, and...we also have a surprise for you.“

„You do?“ Lyanna frowned as she pulled out one of her older, more comfortable dresses, with enthusiasm better befitting an old lady than one of merely four-and-ten. She still searched for her riding breeches.

„Aye. But I'm not going to let you see it if you keep being so pissy. You have to promise to cheer up.“

„How about I promise not to kick your ass instead?“ Lyanna asked in an unaffected voice and Benjen, seeing her efforts were wasted on his very much grumpy sister this morning, simply rolled his eyes.

Making his swift way off her bed and out of the tent, he only turned to add. „You might want to put on a tunic and some breeches.“

That had Lyanna's attention. „Why?“ She was planning on the breeches, anyway. She couldn't remember the last time she went out without them. Actually she could, cause it was last night, but not by her own will. Her handmaidens would have surely shrieked in horror had she tried to smuggle them under her pretty red silks of last night. 

Not being dignified with a response, she shook her head and went about digging through her stuff some more, looking for one of Brandon's old tunics that she had stolen a while ago. It was fortunate she remembered to pack it, whatever it was that she needed it for according to her youngest brother. It was far too big for her, considering Brandon's very wide muscled chest and strong arms, but she didn't mind. It was better than it being too tight, which was a common complaint she had of her more presentable clothes.

Peering her head out of the tent, Lyanna searched for Benjen. She didn't have to look for too long since he could be found standing by the nearby tree. She was just about to make her way over but she stopped in confusion, watching as her brother made a couple of humorous panicking moves with his arms that looked like he was trying to get someone else's attention.

Just a few seconds later, Howland came into her view, carrying something covered in rags as his legs worked to move him with speed. Lyanna walked back, moving from the tent entrance as both young men made their way in.

„Tell me that is what I think it is.“ Lyanna grinned, not able to help herself, as she got an idea just what it was that Howland had procured into her tents in secret.

Not giving a verbal answer, Howland simply moved the rags and Lyanna gasped as her eyes danced from one metal surface presented before her to another. She crouched with a delighted sigh, transfixed as she picked up a gauntlet and looked it over in amazement. It hadn't been a brand new piece of armor, that was for sure but not like it bothered Lyanna any.

Seeing her expression, Howland and Benjen just grinned at each other. Howland had a worry that her offer last night hadn't been fully serious, but right now there was no doubt the lady was beyond enthralled with her gift.

„How did you manage to get all of this?“ She asked breathless, still looking over the armor, not able to tear her gaze away. Her hand slowly traced the breastplate that was clearly made of a metal a few shades darker than the gauntlets were. The pieces were clearly from different sets of armor, but that would not matter as long as they would fit. A plain white shield also stood out from the pile; Lyanna could already imagine branding it with her own sigil. She would have to come up with something.

Howland shrugged, with a hint of embarrassment suddenly. „It was the least we could do as our part in the plan.“

„Would you like to try it on?“ Benjen added, his grin almost as wide as his sister's had been.

„Only yes!“ Lyanna's hand lifted to her mouth and she giggled, not able to stop herself. Now she understood why the tunic and breeches, and it was the best reason she could imagine. She was going to be a knight, Gods, this was truly happening.

As she was tight-fitted into her mismatched armor by her conspirators, Lyanna noted with further amazement that all the pieces fit rather well. Finally enveloped in her metal suit, she tested the range of motion, trying to assess whether it gave her enough flexibility for riding, and of course, handling the lance. That had only been a part of it, because Lyanna thoroughly enjoyed the sight of herself in such attire as well. It had been her lifelong desire that she never thought would get fulfilled. And now she would get her chance.

„Perfect.“ Benjen rated and Lyanna let out another soft, childish laugh, about to remark that she could quite agree.

Their moods crashed and their bodies got sent into utter panic in the next moment as they heard the deep, booming voice of their eldest brother who, by the sounds of it, was fast approaching. Howland became confused and frightened as well, seeing the siblings in disarray.

„Lyanna!“ Brandon shouted impatiently, his shadowed silhouette clearly visible to them as he paced in front of the tent.

Lyanna had only hoped the shadow was a one-sided luxury and that her brother did not have similar insight into what had been going on with them. Driving the panic away from her brain at the thought of their secret being busted, Lyanna quietly commanded both Benjen and Howland to hide under her bed as she frantically started shaking off the pieces of her mismatched armor, subsequently shoving them beneath the bed as well.

„Lyanna, we have to go! I don't have all day.“ Her brother sang and she rolled her eyes, before she realized in all horror that she had trouble getting rid of one of the leg pieces.

„I'm coming, just let me change.“ _Out of this armor I'm not supposed to be seen in under any circumstances._

Seeing his sister struggle, Benjen reluctantly rose from under the bed, and helped her tug on the obstruction. The piece finally came off with the cost of a soft thud Benjen's behind made in contact with the floor. As he crawled back quickly into cover, Lyanna aggressively pulled her dress over her shoulders, ruffling her dark curls even further as she did so. Just as she moved to leave the tent, the fabric closing off the entrance snapped open and the bulky form of her oldest brother made its way in instead.

„What are you doing?“ She asked, trying to appear casual but her brother wasn't easily fooled. It would have taken a blind man not to note her cheeks marred by a red blush, and further evidence of guilt in her wide eyes. Sensing her posture hadn't been quite one of composure, Lyanna righted herself and added in a deliberately calm voice. „I was changing, you can't just burst into a lady's tent while she's changing.“

„Oh please.“ Brandon laughed, pearly whites shining in a wolfish sneer. „I'm your brother, I've already seen your naked butt. The better question, lady,“ - he jokingly intoned - „is why are you acting weird? What's going on?“ His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked around the tent. Lyanna did as well as casually as she could, terrified that some piece of evidence had missed her eye and was still lying around. It had been a small miracle all of it had fitted under the bed, along with two people.

„Nothing. Let's just go.“ Almost subconsciously, her body moved so that her back was turned to the bed in a sorry attempt of protection. It didn't do her much good, since it just made Brandon more convinced that there was indeed something odd happening.

„You're not getting off that easy.There's something going on, just what?“ Her brother looked around, his features frowned in wonderment as he impatiently tapped his foot. His jaw set in angered realization not more than a moment after and his eyes firmly looked upon her.

„Don't tell me there's a man hiding under that bed.“

Lyanna snorted, as if the suggestion were completely preposterous, but she felt her heart pick up its pace in her chest. „Of course not. Who would it be anyway?“ She shrugged, praying to the Gods it was convincing enough.

„Robert Baratheon for example.“ Her brother retorted with a rise of his brows but she wasn't yet sure if he was serious enough in his suggestions.

Seeing her face had paled, Brandon was more and more convinced that what he jested of might as well turn out to be true. He moved to go around her and toward the bed, but she moved as well, standing in front of him once more, as if they were doing a dance.

„Move.“ Her brother ordered harshly, now seriously wondering if Robert Baratheon was enough of a fool to die of his fist before he even had a chance to get married. Just as the infuriating thought came to him and he reached to physically remove his sister from his path and check for himself, the voice of the man sought after could be heard just from outside the tents.

Lyanna closed her eyes and breathed a deep but barely heard sigh of relief as her brother turned to leave. „You get off this time. Get ready, we're going out riding in a couple of minutes. Also, your hair is a mess.“ He softly intoned, presumably joining Robert and Ned outside as he disappeared from sight.

Lyanna couldn't help but feel bothered that they came so close to being discovered, and their secret adventure hadn't even started. Thinking about all the ways an alibi could be made for their plans to be furthered in peace, her head started hurting again.

 Mindlessly resting her weight back on her bed in exhaustion, Lyanna realized it was just about the worst idea she could have had as she heard a stifled grunt from her brother. She jumped up in regret, almost like she just now realized Benjen and Howland were trapped there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some humor with Lyanna and her armor. As always, please tell me what you think!


	6. A Prince's Adventure

As the lance of the mysterious knight crashed against Lord Frey's chest and the lord found himself tottering off his horse and into the dust, the crowd loudly cheered. The Knight of the Laughing Tree, which was the name given to the mysterious knight thanks to the bleeding-red sigil on his shield, was the main attraction of the event and would probably be what this tourney would be remembered by for many years to come.

The notion hadn't troubled Rhaegar in the slightest, the knight seemed to have an honorable cause after all. He could have asked for gold, he could have asked for better armor; Gods knew he could make use out of either of those things. However, the knight only asked that a couple of squires, the same bunch who had been rumoured to have attacked Howland Reed, be taught honor by their lords.

Many betting pools have existed on the identity of the mysterious knight since his first showing up the day before, from people saying he was the youngest Stark boy, all the way to those claiming he wasn't even a real person, but a collective illusion created by Howland Reed, which would have been deemed ridiculous and laughed off had the crannogmen not been known for their special abilities of greenseeing. And with such odd capabilities, there was no telling how far and wide they went. Rhaegar did not believe such theories, of course, but he had a couple of his own.

The queer attire took away from the seriousness of perception, but there was no doubt the knight was a more than capable rider and had a decent way with the lance. His three wins out of three matches, each against a more competent rival, proved that. Rhaegar wondered if he himself would have an opportunity to crash lances with the mysterious figure.

The easy thoughts that came to him were easily clouded by darker ones yet still. There was one person that didn't find enjoyment in the appearance of the knight, and unfortunately for Rhaegar it was his own father. The King seemed to grow more frantic by the second, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. Not even the overwhelming presence of the white-armored Kingsguard around him seemed to give him any peace of mind.

The oddity and mysteriousness were just the kinds of things that fueled the Mad King's paranoia to the extreme, and when the Knight refused to take off his helm and identify himself, riding off into the dust instead, that had been the final straw. His father's eyes madly shone as they looked around till they settled on his own.

In the following instant, the Mad King's voice screeched. „Are you just going to bear the insult made to your King? Go on boy, bring me that traitor's head. You, Ser Jaime, accompany him!“

Rhaegar nodded and hurriedly stood to his feet, making his way to the stables as the youngest member of the Kingsguard followed his lead faithfully, in a clack of white armor. The prince handed over his crown and the heavy cloak he wore to his squire before mounting his black destrier with no small amount of desire he were somewhere else, anywhere else.

It went against his morals to be doing this, after all the Knight of the Laughing Tree had done nothing wrong. How many other people would have to suffer at the hand of the King's madness? But Rhaegar couldn't disobey a direct command and although he was slightly irritated at the young man being charged with accompanying him, he thought it was preferable to sending strange men who would not have mercy on the unlucky knight.

This way, he would at least have a way of assessing the situation before deciding what to do. And maybe it was a chance to see just what the young, impressionable Jaime Lannister was made of. Any member of the Kingsguard Rhaegar could get on his side meant less trouble for his plans to make his father abdicate.

Kicking his saddled horse into gallop toward the godswood which was almost certainly the route the Knight of the Laughing Tree had taken, leaving in his wake a cloud of dust, the prince was followed by the young lion.

They weren't taken far into the woods before the first clue appeared; an abandoned gauntlet less than shone in the green grass. Rhaegar dismounted, his feet quietly landing in the grass as he retrieved the object. Showing it to Ser Jaime, Rhaegar as well as the other young knight looked up as a distant thunder of hoofbeats that suddenly came to a halt attracted their attention. They couldn't have heard it before, for the noise their own beasts made. The elusive Knight was close, and it seemed he had just dismounted as well, probably confident in his escape.

Rhaegar put a hand up, signalling to Ser Jaime to keep quiet. Both men secured their horse's reins on the nearby tree and on their feet made their way deeper into the woods. It's wasn't long till they realized they almost reached a small clearing with a pond, likely where the Knight decided to take rest. 

Jaime being the better armored man out of the two and being a member of the Kingsguard took the lead and Rhaegar permitted him, preferring to observe and govern the situation if need be. Through his cover behind the leaves, Ser Jaime took a moment to observe the scenery before he would strike. The familiar mismatched armor was cluttered on the ground near the pond, the painted shield laughing humorlessly at him. A small splash of water was heard and Jaime could see long dark hair trailing on the water surface. _Of all the times to take a bath._

Just as Rhaegar joined Ser Jaime behind the leaves, the mysterious Knight sputtered to the surface, leaving a beautiful, slender female form naked from the waist up. Both men gasped and quickly turned their backs away from the sight, choosing to look at one another with an incredulousness instead.

Not only was the Knight of the Laughing Tree a woman, it was Lyanna Stark, the fairest lady in the North as she was often called, the only daughter of the Lord of Winterfell.

Giving himself a few seconds first to snap out of his moment of amazement and confusion, Rhaegar pulled Ser Jaime to the side. The young knight seemed equally frazzled, looking at the Prince with a hope he had an idea on how to go about this situation. 

„What do we do? That's...“ Rhaegar just nodded, he himself contemplating how to keep this situation away from his father. If he were alone, he knew what he would do. He had to make sure though that this secret wouldn't leave the three of them.

Settling upon a plan, the prince commanded in a quiet yet rather clear voice. „You shall get back to our horses. Take yours with you and go...somewhere. It doesn't matter where, just don't be seen before my return. I will deal with this situation by myself. And Ser Jaime, don't relay a word of this to anyone.“

Jaime looked at him reluctantly, green eyes wide and Rhaegar could see the conflict there. The knight was young and inexperienced enough, having just freshly taken a vow of ultimate obedience to his king. And now the Prince was asking him to compromise that.

„I know I'm asking a lot of you, but it's important. If anything were to come to light, I will take full responsibility before the King. Ser Jaime, if he finds out, what do you think he will do? Do you want that burden on your soul? Lyanna Stark is not a traitor.“ A recognition of the sense in his words could be noted in the younger knight's emerald eyes. His gaze softened; Jaime nodded curtly and went on his way. 

The Prince softly sighed as his legs slowly carried him back to behind his leaved cover. With a reluctance he glanced back toward the pond; relief flooded him upon seeing the lady knight had already donned a dress and was now moving to pick up her armor. Her horse stood saddled next to a big tree, one which he could access easily from this side without being seen. Rhaegar shortly contemplated just letting her go, but that would only aggravate the situation if the Knight of the Laughing Tree were to show up for the jousts tomorrow as well. He had to confront her and his pulse quickened at the idea.

Silently making his way to behind the tall tree, he noted Lyanna was moving toward her horse just the same. She fitted her armor into a large rag and threw it over the saddle, then walked over to the other side, ready to mount her mare.

However, before she had a chance to, strong hands gripped around her waist. Struggling wildly, Lyanna shouted. „Let me go right now, or I shall stab you.“

Rhaegar didn't let go, instead he attempted to soothe her using words. „My lady, that-“

A dagger lodged itself in his thigh, the wound shallow but it ached to high heaven. He hissed in pain and his grip lessened enough for Lyanna to wrestle herself away and turn around, her mouth gaping open as her eyes fell on him.

„My Prince.“ She breathed in astonishment, her deep grey eyes widening as she noted the bleeding she had caused.

„I guess you stab first and ask questions later.“ Rhaegar hissed through his teeth as he limped and Lyanna gently threw his arm over her shoulder, assisting him to sit down and lowering herself on her knees.

„I am so sorry.“ She uttered part in embarrassment, part in regret.

Seeing the genuine emotion in her eyes, his heart softened. He _did_ have it coming, sneaking up on her like that. If anything, he should have assumed she would defend herself with the same ferocity she defended her friend's honor.

„It's fine my lady, I shouldn't have approached you like that. I was just afraid you would run." Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar continued. „I know you are the Knight of the Laughing Tree.“

At this proclamation, a panic sprung inside her. Of course, why else would he be here unless he followed her? A soft blush wafted over Lyanna's cheeks when she realized he probably saw her bathing. She moved to stand up but his hand grabbed hers, less in force and more in a plead for her to stay.

„Don't worry, I shan't hurt you. Even if you grow tired of me, you can outrun me anyway.“

Lyanna's face slightly brightened at the quip; she found amusement in the prince who found it in himself to mock his own predicament. Even if, his knowledge of her secret identity still frightened her. The Knight of the Laughing Tree was declared a traitor by the King himself. It only made sense the Prince started this search with an intention of bringing the traitor back to justice. He answered the question she hadn't even asked aloud.

„Listen, I know you meant no harm. The King is...a man who is frightened of foreign affairs. It's true I was sent to bring the offender in, but I have no intention of doing that. Your secret is safe with me, my lady.“

„Really?“ She asked in a small voice, still trying to decide if the Prince could be trusted. He nodded seriously, looking into her eyes and she sighed with relief.

„Then call me Lyanna, I hate being called a lady.“ For some reason, she felt comfortable adding that second part. Usually she didn't, she didn't want people laugh in her face or tell her she's a silly goose for thinking she can escape her fate in name. The Prince didn't strike her as a man who would mock her for it.

„You would rather be called a knight.“ He stated more than asked and a silent understanding passed between them.

„Do you...like being a Prince I mean?“ The question might have been silly at face value, but Lyanna could see the melancholy behind the prince's eyes. She remembered that night when his voice trembled around the melody of his silver harp, how it felt like it was tearing at her very soul. If his princely duties mostly consisted of what he was doing today, chasing someone of his father's choice, maybe it was a sad destiny all the same.

„I'm not sure, it's all I've ever known.“ He answered honestly and Lyanna thought him lucky for it. Every once in a while she would get a glimpse of what life would have been like were she a boy, mostly watching her brothers and lately enjoying her jousting experience. She was sure she would gladly carry that memory into her grave. And although those glimpses were sweet, reality was all the more bitter for it. Her eyes fell on a small pool of blood that formed under the prince's leg.

„You're bleeding.“ Lyanna looked around herself, eyes searching for anything that might help her stop the slow dripping. With a passing thought, she took the bloodied dagger she had dropped in the grass just a few feet away and she sliced through fabric at the edge of her dress, creating a long grey gauze.

Pulling it from under the prince's leg, she held both ends tightly in her hands. „It's going to hurt.“

„Do it fast.“ Was the prince's reply and she intertwined the sides, pulling the fabric tight around the Prince's thigh, hoping the pressure would curb the bleeding. He barred his teeth, making the ache bearable. A small realization came upon her as she secured the fabric in place.

„You won't be able to joust tomorrow.“

The prince's eyebrows rose. „I guess that makes two of us.“

Lyanna nodded and a sadness came upon her. Indeed it was done, the Knight of the Laughing Tree would cease to exist. She was upset about her actions toward the Prince as well, destroying his very good chances of winning the tourney. 

Rhaegar just looked at her, watching as she swallowed a lump in her throat. His own heart sank, feeling for the young woman in her disappointment. He wanted to offer her something, some soothing word, a consoling syllable but he came up empty. He couldn't tell her there would be other chances, for that simply wasn't true. If the rumours were true, she would have become Lady of Storm's End by the end of the year. Rhaegar wondered how she felt about that, but now wasn't the time to ask.

„Let us go, we need to get rid of your armor.“ He said softly after a couple of seconds of silence.

* * *

 

„So tell me, how did you manage to become so skillful with a lance? I can't imagine it would be easy for a lady to persuade her father into allowing something like that. Or if you managed, that's certainly commendable.“

Rhaegar was sitting back in the saddle of Lyanna's mare, his hands having a firm hold on her hips for security as Lyanna lead the way. They had already disposed of most of the pieces of the incriminating armor, Lyanna being the freely moving agent who would dismount and flink the pieces into the crowns of random trees in the godswood, lost never to be found again. He had thought of telling her to first take them to the place he left his own beast behind, but he found his thigh ached and this arrangement came rather easily to him. After some time circling the godswood, they'd ended up at the spot anyway and he noted his horse was gone, had most likely ripped away from its reins and ran off.

The wind whipped Lyanna's dark hair back and brought its North scent back to him, the only trouble was that when he spoke, he ran the risk of getting a mouthful of her hair. After another rather strong whirl of wind, he gently leaned a bit further toward her, his head behind the crook of her neck and shoulder. Lyanna just settled against him as they bantered, at times turning her head to meet his eyes.

„He doesn't allow it. My youngest brother and I, we do it in secret.“ Lyanna bit her lip, thinking back to their mock tourney field hidden in the godswood of Winterfell.

„It must have taken a lot of your time, and effort to keep a secret. Do you really enjoy jousting that much?“

 _Don't you?_ Lyanna thought but she hadn't said out loud. „Yes.“ She simply answered. „It's not boring, like most things Old Nan is trying to get me to do. I can only prick my finger on a needle so many times in a day before I want to scream.“

Rhaegar smiled, the scene of his fair lady knight in armor appearing in his head easily enough, for he had already witnessed it, a picture of her sewing by the window however, it was harder to come by. „Well I've never really sewed, so I don't know what that's like, but I know pricked fingers. Practicing the harp can do that as well.“

Lyanna's ears inadvertently filled with the soulful melody that had brought out tears in her eyes. Any hours the Prince must have spent practicing, it was all worth it for she had never heard anything _so beautiful_. She thought to somehow tell him that but she wasn't sure how and her head dropped the subject.

The sun had already made more than three quarters of its way across the sky, and Rhaegar had a thought. „My la-, uhm Lyanna, don't your brothers miss you? It is getting quite late.“

„I already arranged for that. My youngest brother, Benjen is watching the melee, more specifically Lord Baratheon competing. Allegedly, I joined him, and if anyone at the melee wonders, I'm with my other two brothers.“ Lyanna replied in a steady voice.

„Lord Baratheon, he is your betrothed, is he not?.“ Rhaegar asked softly and Lyanna turned her head to look at him for a second, „Soon to be.“ She answered, her voice low. That put an end to any questions he might have had about her feelings toward it.

Suddenly, Lyanna pulled on the reins of her mare, commanding it to a halt. Shifting, she turned to sit sideways in the saddle. Neither she nor the prince moved beyond that. „How about you? I'm sure the Prince is a figure to be missed by many.“

„The Prince is on a diplomatic mission of bringing the Knight of the Laughing Tree to justice.“

„A diplomatic mission?“ Lyanna turned her grin toward him and he shrugged innocently.“ Am I to believe all of this to be a jest and your men are going to arrest me first thing in the morning?“ She looked at him wide-eyed, suddenly serious.

„If I say no, would you believe me?“

„No.“ She whispered softly, getting caught up in the light in his eyes. Her gaze trailed over, taking in his features. She noticed he seemed a lot more relaxed this way, than he did sitting alongside the Mad King at the dining table. _Also less regal._ Lyanna thought, noting the lack of any princely accessories. He had the most beautiful and unusual features, she had to admit. She hesitated reaching out with her hand, tracing the trail of his sharp cheekbones but something stopped her. Her eyes fell to his lips, they seemed so soft. Before she had any time to do something stupid, she jumped down, taking the painted shield with her.

„Wait.“ He dismounted right after her, grimacing as he settled his weight on the wounded leg. He gently started prying the shield from her hand. Lyanna looked at him suspiciously.

„I was hoping I might keep that part. I have to bring _something_ to my father as a proof of my search.“

She hesitated for a second then released her grip on the item. She looked at it once again longingly, trying to remember its sneering face. For someone else it might be a thing of nightmares, but it brought her so much joy.

He sensed it again, the sadness in her. Their eyes met and suddenly she felt irritated, she couldn't tell by what. 

„I'm going to go then. You should keep the horse since you don't have your own, I don't have a place to keep her anyway. Take care of her, she was a faithful beast.“ Lyanna mused as she petted the animal's warm muzzle. It was a small favor for a Prince to make and she thought the animal that carried her through three wins deserved it. As she stroked back its mane, the mare gave her a quiet neigh and Lyanna's eyes suddenly filled with tears, she blinked them away. She was doing that a lot lately.

Lyanna gave the Prince a silent nod, and turned away, taking a different route through the godswood and back to the tents. Rhaegar watched after her, unsettled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the two main characters finally meet. I hope it was worth the wait :) And since I'm feeling a bit wicked and just generally curious about impressions, I'll resort to blackmail. I'll post the next chapter no sooner than when I get at least 5 comments on this one :)


	7. About a Wound

The darkness had already set upon the tents as Arthur remained stoically positioned in front of the Prince's own, getting more unsettled by his absence every second. Neither he nor the young Jaime Lannister had been seen ever since the King had sent them after the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Arthur thought it reckless even then; he knew Rhaegar was an exceptional warrior and Ser Jaime Lannister was a promise of one, but sending the crown prince after the offender without a properly equipped entourage was just reckless. Ser Arthur shortly contemplated taking this concern before the King himself and asking for men to search for Rhaegar when a squire called out to him.

Hoping the Prince had shown up, the Sword of the Morning found disappointment and further worry in the discovery that the Prince's means of transportation had returned without him on it. Deciding that was the last straw, the knight made his way sharply toward the royal tents, more than determined to not leave them without the king's order for a thorough search of the nearby surroundings.

Just then, a thunder of hoofbeats was heard behind him and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he noted the silver tresses of the rider shining in the almost-night. His eyes narrowed into slits when he'd noted the Prince was alone, and even more when he couldn't recognize the beast that carried him.

Dismounting slowly, Rhaegar handed the reins of the animal to the approaching stableboy and softly remarked that the horse was to be well taken care of.  

As Rhaegar limped over to Arthur, his disturbed posture as well as the blood on his clothing did an excellent job distracting the other knight, and so did the seeming burden covered in rags the Prince carried with himself.

„My friend.“ The Dragon Prince greeted simply.

„My Prince, you are hurt.“ Arthur voiced his concern, moving over to his friend's side quickly and turning into useful support for the tired Prince. Rhaegar handed him over the strange object and Arthur uncovered the cloth, finding the familiar blood-red laughing face look right back at him.

With a breathy sound of surprise, he inquired. „The Knight's shield. How did you get this?“

„It's a long story. And I'm fine.“ Rhaegar returned but it wasn't a particularly convincing response, seeing he had trouble even leaning on his wounded leg.

„What happened My Prince? Where is Ser Jaime? Dead?“ Arthur asked, preparing himself for the worst case scenario already. Gods only know how Tywin Lannister would react at the news. As if it wasn't enough the realm had taken the man's heir, all they needed was the young lion perishing under the King's watch.

„Nothing like that.“ Rhaegar winced as another sharp tingle of pain passed through his leg. „Let us go, Arthur, let's just get to the tents, I shall explain it all. And trust me, this is a story worth hearing.“

* * *

 

As Rhaegar leaned back into his soft silk pillows and the appointed maester tended to his wound, the eventful course of the day kept replaying in the Prince's head. Dying to share it with someone, bounce this knowledge off of his best friend, he'd been impatient waiting for the healing to be done.

Without a distraction, his mind drifted again and again to the idea of the young wolf-maid who took it upon herself to don armor and defend an innocent's honor. _And stab him_ , the pain in his leg reminded him.

Lyanna Stark had been her name, and if Rhaegar hadn't known she was the daughter of the great Northern lord, his assumptions would have placed her further North, beyond the Wall. He meant it like a compliment in every way, and as an image of her soft dark curls drifting around her in the wind as she smiled came into his mind, he found himself daydreaming of her beauty.

Robert Baratheon was a lucky man to be betrothed to her, Rhaegar wondered if he realized just how lucky he was.

When the maester moved to pick up his instruments, medications and the bloodied cloth that had been wrapped around the Prince's thigh to stop the bleeding, Rhaegar's hand stopped him.

„Your Grace, it's just a cloth.“ The old man commented and Rhaegar shook his head, his voice hoarse as he replied. „It's rather important to me. I'd prefer you leave it.“ The maester just nodded quietly and wrapped up his work; he bowed as he took his instruments with him and exited the tents.

As he got out, Ser Arthur Dayne found his way in. „My Prince, what happened?“

Rhaegar wordlessly motioned to the dark wooden chair next to the bed. Arthur moved to deposit the ancestral weapon of his house, Dawn in the crimson silken sheets on the edge of the Prince's bed, then he took a seat.

„My friend, you were right.“ Stated Rhaegar as he pushed himself into a further upright position. Arthur moved to help with his pillows but the Prince just shook his head, signaling he'll manage.

„Right about what?“ Now the other knight was truly intrigued and Rhaegar could tell, by the elevation in his voice and the familiar glint in his own deep violet eyes.

„We'll get to that in a second. First if you wouldn't mind passing me that skin of wine.“ Arthur hurriedly complied and Rhaegar took a swig; Arthur looked on at the strange sight. His Prince wasn't a man of heavy drinks, but it seemed he welcomed its use as an anesthetic.

„Thank you.“ Rhaegar handed him the wine container back as he wiped his mouth. Arthur thought to take a sip of the Dornish red as well.

„The Knight of the Laughing Tree is Lyanna Stark.“

The Prince had not planned for the rather comic scene of his friend spitting out the red liquid all over as it seemed the information took him as well as his throat off guard.

Still coughing, Arthur managed to squeeze out. „What?“

Rhaegar's eyes implored him with boredom, his hand gesturing in emphasis of his point. „It's the truth. And one I would rather not repeat, considering even the walls, or rather the fabric of the tents, have ears.“

„I said it in a jest.“ Ser Arthur in wonderment replied, still not sure whether his Prince had gained a sense of humor or lost his mind on his quest of today.

„I've followed her myself and seen her with my own eyes. Ser Jaime did as well.“ Rhaegar explained, trying very much not to think about just how much he'd seen that wasn't for his eyes to see.

„That explains why you haven't brought the Knight back in.“ Arthur replied thoughtfully. „Have you spoken to her?“

„Aye. That's what took so long.“ Rhaegar inadvertently sighed, thinking back to the memory of being buried in dark, glossy locks at the whim of winds. His friend however, still seemed skeptical of his words.

„Here.“ Rhaegar tossed him over the grey piece of material smeared with his blood. Ser Arthur deftly caught the fabric, examining it, ignoring the large red stain. He murmured with realization.

„This is a fine material, some kind of silk. Something that would be found on a highborn lady's dress. My Prince, this is either a very elaborate prank or you're not jesting after all. Are you telling me she stabbed you?“ Arthur asked, his features contorting into an incredulous frown.

Rhaegar replied casually. „Aye, but I was to blame for that. How would you react if you were a maid in the woods alone and a stranger were to attack you from behind?“  

 „You were alone? Where did Ser Jaime go?“ The other knight's purple eyes shone with suspicion.

The Prince just shrugged. „I sent him away. Told him not to come back before me. I guess he took me seriously.“

„So...what happens now?“ Arthur muttered in doubt.

„Nothing. Neither of us tells a soul of it. I can trust you to keep this a secret?“ Rhaegar questioned, dark indigo eyes shining as he looked upon his friend.

Ser Arthur returned his firm gaze. „Of course My Prince. Your secrets are mine, you know that.“

„Good.“ Rhaegar sighed, his body relaxing back in the sheets.

Arthur frowned after a few seconds of silence, debating whether to speak his mind or not.

„My Prince forgive me but, why do you care? You know this catch would allow you in your father's good graces, why didn't you just turn her in? Naught would have happened to her, the king certainly wouldn't be unreasonable enough...“

Rhaegar turned his head with some effort, affording his friend a serious stare. „And would you bet her life on that certainty, Arthur? I couldn't bear for her to get hurt. She meant nothing wrong, she was only defending her friend's honor.“ He added with glibness. „Not to mention I couldn't have turned her in, even if I wanted to. Unless I wanted to end up with more stab wounds.“

Arthur let out a mirthless laugh. „My Prince, you say it like it's humorous, to me as your friend and a sworn protector of the royal family your security is no laughing matter.“

„Do not fret.“ Rhaegar's eyebrows rose. „After all, I did come back safe from captivity, did I not?“

„At what cost?“ Arthur muttered and Rhaegar felt amused by his friend.

„If you're trying to say I've lost my mind, I think you just might be right.“ He returned as his long fingers reached out for the piece of the grey material. Rhaegar watched it intently, lost in thought for a couple of seconds.

„I pray you can get me the milk of the poppy for tomorrow. Or some other plant that would help with the pain but wouldn't cloud judgement so much.“

„I could talk to the maisters, but why do you need it?“ Arthur's brows rose in inquiry.

„I joust tomorrow against Brandon Stark. And before you say it, I know I won't be able to keep myself still on the horse if I take a hit. Which is why I have to make sure  _not_  to take a hit.“

Arthur's face contorted into a deep frown. „My Prince, are you sure that's wise? There will be plenty of other tourneys, why risk your health?“

„Not ones like this one.“ Rhaegar replied thoughtfully.

Any discerning quality the knight might have noted, he kept it to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....aaand I caved. Seriously though, I'm starving for reviews/ideas/comments/anything. Lol.


	8. About a Wolf Pack

Eddard rolled his icy eyes in a rather rude gesture, or at least it would be if anyone were there to pay attention. He had been sharing his quite spacious tents with his friend and ward brother, but Robert was not conscious enough to pay him any mind, in fact, it could be said that Robert wasn't even conscious enough for his breathing to be silent.

Unsuccessfully trying to shake his friend out of his slumber, which was undoubtedly a harder task for every refill Robert's cup of wine had last night, Ned finally gave up. They didn't have to be anywhere, at least not yet.

Brandon's match against the crown prince was scheduled to be in a couple of hours – _A bold move by Brandon to challenge such a man_. – Ned thought. It was exactly the kind of a thing Brandon or even Robert would do. But not Ned. He hadn't been a bad jouster, he had tried himself at the skill alongside Robert under the supervision of Lord Jon Arryn. But Ned hadn't found any pleasure in the prospect of seeking the experience out. He was no knight, after all.

Ned was not fated for great things, he was the second son. He cherished rather than resented his place just beside the spotlight as opposed to being under it, whether the spotlight was on Brandon, or even on Robert lately. Ned believed there was value to be found in moderation. And there was value in silent work. He was more than satisfied with the way his life was mapped out. It wasn't his turn yet, but after Brandon's and then, Lyanna's wedding, surely time would come for him as well.

Eddard wondered at his future wife briefly, she would surely be a daughter of one of more important Stark bannermen. He himself would be one of Brandon's bannermen when the time came. His future lady wife, she would surely be fair and kind, even though that second part mattered more to Ned.

 _As long as she wasn't hideous._ He did not expect his wife to look anything like Cersei Lannister or Ashara Dayne, or even anything resembling his sister. Those were the three women that Ned could remember were commonly referred to as exceedingly beautiful, even if he did not overly concern himself with such things.

That was not to say that Ned didn't have some of his own fancies, but none were serious enough to keep him awake at night. It surely wasn't love or even infatuation, nothing resembling the fierce affection Robert seemed to hold for his sister. And he hadn't even known her long.

Even if his drinking habits hadn't improved a bit (in fact, Ned would be inclined to suspect Robert felt the need to crawl into his cup in part due to the overwhelming feelings Lyanna inspired in him), Robert's gaze had not drifted to any other lady for the duration of the tourney. Ned thought it a promising sign.

Robert and Lyanna could surely build a strong marriage, as soon as Lyanna would snap to her senses about him. Ned hoped sooner rather than later, for her own sake.

As far as his personal desires went, for his wife to be kind and smart, a capable lady and faithful one, that was all Ned wanted. He wondered how many children they would have. He wondered if any of his children would remind him of his siblings; he could just imagine having a firstborn being like Brandon or having a little girl that preferred a sword over her needle, just like her aunt. Thoughts like that made him smile.

He hoped his lady wife and him would have luck, that the Old Gods would watch over them with every new child. While it was as common for a woman to die in a bed of blood as it was for a man to die in a pool of his own by a sword, Ned's consideration came less from other people's tales and more from personal experience.

His own mother had perished birthing a Stark child, which had been a tremendous loss for both him and his siblings who were all children then (Benjen but a newborn babe), and for their father surely. Lord Rickard Stark, even if widowed and left burdened with four children, was a loving father, even if a bit strict at times. Or trying to be, could be better said.

Not that Ned would take advantage of his father's willingness to indulge his children; his behavior fell in line whether there was someone to keep the line or not. There had simply never been any need to step out of it.

Ned did not want glory, he wanted peace and to always be surrounded by family. And right now, he wanted Robert to stop snoring, but it seemed that wish would go unfulfilled.

Rising from his sheets and looking around for his decent clothing, Ned decided to seek out his siblings instead, and let Robert join them if and when he feels up to it. The man had more than celebrated his melee success from the day before, and Ned felt he would be more forgiving than Lyanna in that aspect. Maybe it was better for everyone not to drag Robert out until he was clean and sober and more apt to deal with company.

Speaking or thinking of his sister, she was the exact person that Ned had found sitting on the wooden bench that was positioned roughly halfway between his own tent and hers, yet a bit closer to his.

It was just morning and Lyanna was an early riser. Benjen wasn't one and if a person wanted to find those two apart, the best strategy would be to seek out just the kind of a situation Ned had stumbled upon. While Ned hadn't lived with his siblings for a while now, some things were hard to forget. Not that Ned would ever want to forget them, he'd hoped to nurture his relationships to his siblings far into old age, even when each of them would have their own pack of pups. _The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

Rising her head, seemingly deep in thought before, his sister gave him a small, sleepy smile. The dark colors she wore made her look unusually pale, or maybe it was just the glow of the morning playing on her features.

Ned smiled back, coming closer and kissing her head, noting her dark hair had been even more unruly than usual. He did miss her, very much so. They still hadn't had a chance to speak alone, or even to speak at all. It just so happened that Ned was always with Robert, and Lyanna did not care much for involvement in those conversations which her brother did not for a second think a slight against himself.

„What are you doing up so early?“ His sister asked sweetly, not in the least bit with scold.

Taking a seat to her left, Ned replied. „Don't tell me you're not glad to see me. If it is so, I can make my way back.“

The remark earned him another smile, this time brighter. „Don't mistake me, you know I'm not sending you away. Is your sister not allowed to be surprised? Out of all the things that I would expect would change with you moving away, you rising earlier wouldn't cross my mind. You did like your morning sleep.“

„Aye.“ Ned nodded. „I did. I do, more than you and Brandon anyway. I can't remember the number of times you two were already out, straddling your horses while I was still rubbing the dust from my eyes.“

„Where is our brother anyway?“ Lyanna frowned, looking around for a second. „To be honest with you, I expected to see him before I ever expected to see you so early. If I dare say, it's even a pleasant surprise.“

Ned chuckled. “Nothing like seeing too much of one brother and too little of another to shift your loyalties, huh?“

Lyanna tilted her head, a wolfish grin on her face. „I have enough loyalties for all of you. As much as there is of you, and not a single sister. Maybe to the luck of our father, this way he will only have to deal with sending one daughter packing away from home.“

She'd started out happily, but by the end her tone was bitter. Ned noted it with disconcert. His hand reached out to her back in an affectionate gesture. The seriousness on her face, however, did not dwindle.

Ned wanted to reassure her. „Lya...you know our father loves you. We all love you, we just want that which is best for you...“

„You think marrying Robert Baratheon is what is best for me?“ She asked coolly, her bright grey eyes narrowing as they looked upon his. Not with intent of confrontation, however.

Ned looked away and his voice took on a regretful, scolding tone. „Lya...“

„No seriously, I'm asking you. You know the man, you tell me. Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me you expect me to be happy with that man?“

„Aye.“ Ned replied firmly. „The man loves you. I would never lie to you. Lyanna, you can see it, I know you can. You just don't wish to. That man's love for you would move mountains.“

„It would move mountains, but it wouldn't move him out of an another woman's bed.“ Lyanna replied bluntly and Ned's shoulders deflated. There wasn't much he could say in defense to that.

„You heard some things...“

At this, laughter bubbled on Lyanna's lips. „Me? Everyone heard some things. He already has a bastard. At least one that's publicly known of. He ruined at least one woman's life, he obviously doesn't have much regard for consequences. Why would it be any different after we marry?“

„Because he loves you.“ Ned tried to persuade in his calm voice. „Lya, you're being too harsh. He is young, and aye, he was somewhat reckless but he can change. He will mature, he will keep his head straight. He loves you, he'll do it for you.“

A somber kind of a chuckle came from his sister at that. „Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature.“

Patting her knees with a sigh, Lyanna rose after a moment. She added, her voice low, softer. „It doesn't matter in the end. What happens in the future, happens. Now I would be more concerned with finding that insolent brother of ours.“ She threw him a considerably more joyful look that nonetheless seemed like it took effort and Ned took the hint to drop the subject.

„Maybe he's getting ready for his challenge against the crown prince.“ Eddard returned, rising and following his sister as she walked back briskly in the direction of Brandon's and Benjen's tent.

„There isn't going to be...“ Lyanna started, but then she caught herself. „Uhm, nothing.“

* * *

 

„My Lord, I must admit, I had the greatest time.“ Ashara grinned a radiant smile as her beautiful purple eyes fell upon his handsome face. Oh, if only the South bred such men. And only if there was one of lesser nobility that could capture her heart in a similar way.

„I had an amazing time as well.“ Brandon grinned back, his rather strong and gruff hand trailing surprisingly gentle movements on her cheek. The lady just smiled, tilting her head forward so her eyes lined with thick eyelashes cast down from his, as if shy.

It was the oddest thing, that she would look away from such a simple touch. He wasn't even her first, so the challenge was lesser from the beginning. But then again, Brandon had never met such a lady as Ashara. She was of Dornish blood after all, and if there was a thing about Dorne or its people that had any potential of capturing Brandon's interest, it had to be their relaxed attitude about coupling.

„I'd be honored if you would accept my favor. I must admit, me and a dear friend of mine, the Princess, will have conflicting interests today.“

Brandon just gave her his cocky trademark smile, one he knew charmed the ladies like nothing else did. He wasn't a man of overly sweet words, so he found that when he had nothing nice to say, just smiling and generally averting the subject was preferable.

 Ashara very much liked to talk about her friendship with the Princess, it seemed to be her way of keeping close to the stars. Even if she could be said to be a star in a way herself, some stars shined brighter than others. Any beauty Ashara had over princess Elia was more than compensated by Elia's status as a princess, one way or another. Which was why Elia was married to the most desirable man in the kingdoms even when her own looks were rather unremarkable.

Ashara, on the other hand, couldn't find a suitable marriage prospect because of her own house's lesser position that conflicted with her rather high aim. _She was probably trying for Lady of Winterfell_ , _trying and failing,_ Brandon thought unkindly.

„I will gladly accept your favor, my lady. And I hope to win, if not for my own honor, at least to have an opportunity to properly reward your beauty.“

His sweet tongue seemed to take Ashara's breath away. She grinned, delighted as she looked upon him, in the next moment leaning in, imprinting a kiss on him that was everything but innocent. Brandon would lie if he said he didn't enjoy it. And it had been his reward for just mentioning a stupid crown. Not that he had high hopes of winning, but if he did, the sole reason he could make that promise was the fact Catelyn Tully did not attend.  

 


	9. Red Blood, Blue Rose

„My Prince, are you still certain this is a good idea?“ Ser Arthur inquired once again, eyes looking over the sight of Rhaegar mounted atop of his black destrier. It seemed neither the night slept over nor the light of a new day could do a thing to make his Prince think with more reason and less negligence for his own well being.

„Aye. It doesn't hurt, I swear.“ Rhaegar reassured, for a moment feeling like he was justifying his childish recklessness to his mother. Well, the Kingsguard's attention could just as well compare to a mother's worry in some ways, at least in the sense it never left you alone. But Rhaegar was no fool to doubt Ser Arthur had a special interest in him as his lifelong friend.

„I just don't understand why this is necessary. Surely Brandon Stark and everyone else would understand, you would be doing him a favor by pulling out of the competition.“

Rhaegar just ran a hand through his silver hair, the truth was he couldn't even explain it to himself. He just felt like he had to, like he had an obligation, was honor-bound to this.  _And not to Brandon, of all the Starks._  

Seeing all his attempts of understanding or willing the Prince off his mission were useless, the other knight changed the subject. „What of the King? Have you presented him with the shield yet?“ Arthur would have usually known such an information from his position in the Kingsguard alone, but this morning he had been charged with a special task by the Prince so he wasn't aware of his whereabouts during that time.

„Aye.“ Rhaegar replied without much interest, his eyes cast down.

„And what did he say? Surely he appreciated you putting yourself in danger for the sake of obeying his command.“

„Like you don't know the King.“ Rhaegar sighed with defeat. „He didn't even notice, not that I cared if he did. I don't need any additional questions anyway. I presented him with the shield and he burned it, as you can imagine.“

Rhaegar's darkening eyes fixed in the distance like at a thought. „And as Gods would have it, Ser Jaime was there as well. The look in his eyes, well, let's just say the poor boy is terrified. I doubt he is going to say anything, but I could see the enthusiasm disappear from his eyes as the flames fed upon the shield.“

Then a question, random, sudden. „Do you remember Arthur, when you were just knighted, how it felt?“

Taken a bit off guard, Arthur responded with a great dose of sincerity regardless. „Aye, I remember. I would lie if I were to say I'm as excited about it as I was, or even as I should be. The ideals of knighthood: we swear by them always, we live by them sometimes. You can do good, but you can't be perfect.“

Rhaegar thoughtfully nodded in agreement, not thinking to offer a counter. Jumping down, with the barest presence of a limp in his left leg, the Prince landed on his feet beside his friend. The miracle of improvement since last night could surely be attributed to whatever mix of herbs and potions the maesters gave him to relieve the pain.

„This will work.“ He remarked with satisfaction, patting the horse's muzzle. „How about you, Arthur, did you have any luck on your mission?“ The Prince asked in a brighter voice as he turned away, slowly continuing back from the stables and toward the tents. His friend immediately followed.

„Of course, My Prince. Don't take it as a complaint, but procuring flowers is one of the easiest undertakings a knight in your service can be tasked with. They should already be delivered to your tents, as you asked.“ 

Still following the prince, the knight continued with a quality of caution to his voice, followed by a small tilt of his head. „I'm sure I'll regret asking, but why those flowers in particular? Surely Princess Elia would appreciate any laurel you could bestow upon her, she had been crowned more than once by now after all, she is likely used to it.“

Rhaegar swallowed with something resembling guilt, not answering immediately and his behavior caught his friend's attention. The Prince had been acting strange indeed. Had he not spoken to him last night, Arthur would have surely blamed it on whatever concoction the maesters had seen fit to cook up as part of the treatment. Or maybe Lady Lyanna's dagger had been venomous, onsetting temporary insanity. Neither of those options really made a lot of sense, but then again, neither did the Prince. Arthur had his suspicions, but he also hoped to be proven wrong. No such luck.

„You'll see.“ Rhaegar replied cryptically, not wishing to spare another word on the subject.

* * *

 

As the Prince made another lap around the dusty field, posture straight in the saddle, he picked up his third lance from the hands of a squire who stood near by. Two lances he had already broken against those of Brandon Stark. The first round was an obvious tie, the second one however was a close miss by Brandon, one that Rhaegar thanked his lucky stars for. His mind and reflexes haven't been exactly where he wanted them, and his performance suffered. 

Steeling himself and trying to remember why he was doing this (as if he had any idea beyond an image he couldn't get out of his head), Rhaegar pulled on the reins, angling his horse in the right direction. Pulling the beast to a halt in position, he prepared himself for the third sound of the horn.

This time as he flew in gallop, it only took a split second for Rhaegar to notice that Brandon Stark had, in all his eagerness, angled his body much too forward in relation to his lance. His position left a vulnerable spot that the Prince's lance, on the other hand, carefully but easily targeted. The thud had sounded awfully loud in Rhaegar's head as the heir to Winterfell toppled off his horse and onto the ground.

Pulling on the reins of his dark beast and turning back in a moderate pace, Rhaegar looked on concerned as Brandon Stark seemed to not be rising to his feet. The Prince didn't know why then, but his eyes felt drawn in direction of the silent audience. In the next moment he wished it hadn't happened, for his heart clenched as his gaze fell on a pair of terrified grey eyes, belonging to the she-wolf who seemed like she was on the verge of jumping out of her seat and in aid to her brother.

Then, a sense of utter relief flooded her expression and it was how Rhaegar knew Brandon Stark was going to be well even before he saw it with his own eyes. Tearing his gaze away and taking a deep breath, Rhaegar urged his horse forward and courteously gave a hand to his defeated opponent. 

Brandon Stark seemed to accept the help and the defeat with forced grace, eliciting loud cheers from the crowd as he rose to his feet. Moments after, Rhaegar could see him back in the audience, taking a seat by his sister who looked on concerned for her kin as her lips tightened with worry, touching her small, pale hand to Brandon's larger one.

Rhaegar could only take a guess why his heart thumped so oddly as he looked on at the sight. Lyanna didn't seem to pay him any mind though, in fact she seemed sullen and distracted now, her dress enveloping her in a darkness. Rhaegar found himself desiring she would afford him a single glance; he willed her deep grey eyes to fall on his, wishing to see a spark of recognition there. Even admitting that to himself brought him shame. 

He preferred to think his cause was of a nobler sort, after all. Regardless of any thoughts and feelings he had about it, Lyanna Stark deserved a reward for her bravery, and the Prince would not let her leave without one if he could help it. It was a small favor to make, surely, but it was all he could do - Rhaegar thought, not with a small amount of regret. 

Trying to push his thoughts in a different direction, the Prince contemplated his next opponent. Ser Barristan was a glorious knight and a member of the Kingsguard whose skills only a chosen few could parallel. Even if Rhaegar were in full control of his body and mind, which he wasn't, he would approach the match with guarded confidence at best.

It had been a wild stroke of luck, it had to be, when Rhaegar managed to unseat the other knight in his first attempt. Blinking slowly as he turned his horse back, approaching the royal dais, he couldn't remember how he did it exactly.

Collecting his impressions and allowing his heartbeat to slow, the Prince reached out and soon enough a gorgeous crown of fresh winter roses was lowered into his black-gauntleted hands. Looking upon the sharp vines and thorns, intertwined, Rhaegar remembered the scratches his skin bore underneath the gauntlets.

His posture firm and his gaze neutral, despite the storm that brewed within him, Rhaegar made his way parallel to the benches, toward his fair lady knight. As fate would have it, everyone's stares were directed at him except for hers.

A strange sense of foreboding overwhelmed him as he pulled his horse to a halt before her and the audience quieted so much one could hear a pin drop. He didn't let himself be distracted though. As her gaze finally locked with his own, with a small glint of surprise like she just now wondered why could he possibly be standing there, he felt like they were alone.

Then, Rhaegar's arms reached out over the low fence gracefully, and a crown of winter roses fell into Lyanna's lap. Her gaze drifted down as she blinked, in further surprise it seemed and Rhaegar felt the thudding in his chest become harder to ignore. He intently searched her lovely face for any trace of emotion, but it seemed a hard task beyond telling she indeed felt something.

Her chest rising and falling with unsettled breath, Lyanna slowly lifted her crown and rested it atop her soft dark curls. Serious, deep eyes met his again with what seemed to be restraint and Rhaegar found it in himself to quietly murmur an explanation.

„The Queen of Love and Beauty.“ Rhaegar announced seconds later, loud and clear, his back straight in black armor as he turned away. Leading his horse back in slow canter, the Prince could hear gasps dislodging from various throats of surprised spectators. He decided none of it mattered; the crown was where it belonged.


	10. A Maiden's Desire

As she sat on her bed, Lyanna's thoughts drifted back to that fateful second, when the Prince passed Princess Elia in the stands and instead pulled his horse to a halt in front of her and her brothers. The moment he held out the laurel of winter roses and let it fall in her lap. How she looked back up and their eyes met, glinting amethyst staring straight into her soul it seemed. The excruciating silence that followed, drowning the mass. How she could feel all eyes burn into her as she moved to place the crown on her head. How all the while her heart pounded loudly in her ears, trying to make sense of it all.

And then Rhaegar's words, saying it was for the lady who was as brave as she was beautiful, only for her ears to hear, before he proclaimed her aloud the Queen of Love and Beauty. 

Then, Brandon nearly tearing her away from the stands as soon as they could leave. She couldn't help herself, she looked back, trying to see where the prince was. She wanted to speak to him for one last time before they would forever go their separate ways, to express the overwhelming awe and gratitude that swelled in her chest. And then the face of disgust her brother gave her as he understood her intention. It made her blood freeze in her veins, her brother never looked at her like that.

He left her in the tent, only saying coldly he will be back and that she was not to leave. And she sat on the bed, her crown of winter roses on her lap between her pale knuckles. She gently stroked the soft rose buds, thinking he held them, he held them out  _to her._

Even if it wasn't all she wanted in the way she couldn't even admit to herself, It was by far the nicest gesture anyone had ever done her and her heart tore in two thinking she wouldn't have a chance to thank him.

In truth, no one would ever know what the Prince had done, or rather,  _why_  he did it. That he only wanted to honor The Knight of the Laughing Tree for her tourney success, in the only way he could. 

She moved down into her sheets, burying her face in the soft pillows. As she did, she tried her best not to try to reassemble his beautiful features in her head, to not think about how soft his lips seemed as she looked upon them, how she felt that invisible force pulling her down.

Turning to the side and opening her eyes, Lyanna noted a piece of paper next to her head, half-tucked into her pillow case. She hurriedly rose and her fingers deftly opened the small letter.

_Meet me in the godswood. -R._

Her blood rushed to her head so fast she felt dizzy. Rising from the bed, she paced, thinking what she was to do. Her brother clearly told her to wait here, but she was never one for listening instructions. Gods be damned if she was about to start right now.

Still holding onto her letter, Lyanna moved quickly. Donning on a cloak, her legs carried her out of her tent by themselves, only to be stopped by almost running into a bulky figure towering over at the entrance. She looked up and angry blue piercing eyes met hers, shining in rage on a red surface. 

Startled, Lyanna swallowed and took a step back, her hands behind her back, in a desperate attempt to hide the note. What was Robert Baratheon doing here,  _and now_? But she knew what, it didn't take a genius to see the red seething anger on his face, almost like it threatened to consume him and anyone who found themselves in his vicinity.

Composing herself and telling herself she didn't owe him any explanations, Lyanna bravely took a step forward and when he didn't move, briskly attempted to walk around only to have him roughly grab her by her elbow and spin her around. The rough movement made a shard of pain pass through her arm, but it was incomparable to rage and frustration she felt bubbling under her own surface.

Her other hand strongly gripped on the note she still concealed behind her back.  _Who was he to play this possessive, jealous fool with her?_

„Let me go.“ She almost growled, sharply yanking her arm out of his grip. His eyes still haven't stopped burning into her face, an unspeakable fury seething there. He may have been the fury, but she was the winter. And gods knew all the fury in the world would not melt an ice wall. She lifted her chin and met him every step of the way.

„Where in the seven hells do you think you're going?“ He boomed, towering over her again in red rage and Lyanna felt a small shiver of fear down her spine, thinking he might hit her for a second but then she steeled herself. Who was he to bully her into submission? Like a bit of dumb muscle would be enough for her to respect him. The thought made her wolf blood boil.

„Wherever I please.“ She hissed, meeting his eyes. A second passed, both in calm and storm. Then he spoke again.

„You are mine.“ He said with surprising calmness. But it didn't burn any less, in fact it stunned her to have him say it just like that like it was some common fact. The words tore at Lyanna's soul, defeating her spirit but not for longer than a moment.  _Not now, not ever. Not if I can help it._

And maybe he would have ownership of her body and soul one day. Lyanna could only dread the day she would wake up resigned to her destiny. But this wasn't that day.

„I, Lyanna of Stark.“ She stopped and rose to her toes, very well getting in his face. It didn't make him flinch but it did make his nostrils expand with a fury at the defiance. She continued.“ Am but my own. You should remember that.“ Her jaw protruding, she held the burning gaze for another second. Then she turned and briskly walked away.

Robert could only grind his teeth as his fist clenched, imagining like it clenched around a certain Targaryen's throat.  _You will pay. Both of you will pay._   _She is mine._  he repeated to himself, over and over again.  _She will be._  The laws of Gods and men were on his side. She was promised to him and that silver fuck would be gone soon, even if he wanted her, he would never have her. This made a small cruel smile twist on his face.

Suddenly realizing where he still was, Robert's thoughts took to confusion but for a second. As his gaze fell on the bed and he saw  _that thing_  there, any semblance of calmness was gone as all turned blood bright red once again.

 

* * *

 

Lyanna walked with direction toward the godswood with her head down, she discreetly looked around, making sure no one was following her. A small sigh of relief passed her lips; her fist unclenched as she hurriedly folded the paper in front of her and secured it in her cleavage. A wild blend of emotion still coursed through her; the rage her encounter with Robert kindled and the excitement she felt thinking she was going to see the silver prince again battled within her.

As her boots and skirts battled through the wild vegetation and dirt of the godswood and she made her way toward the pond clearance, she saw a dark cloaked figure near the heart tree close by. Her breath stopped; she looked up and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen took off his hood and his tresses tumbled down like locks of silver.

She steeled herself and amended her direction, her heart beating wildly within her chest as she made her way forward, eyes fixed on the ground. She abruptly came to a halt a foot away from him.  _Too close_ , she thought as she could swear she could feel the heat that radiated off his body, and inhale that scent of his that intoxicated her.

„You came.“ Rhaegar said with something that resembled relief. Lyanna just nodded, her eyes searching the ground. She finally gathered enough composure to look up and meet his eyes. Strange, imperceptible things played there.

„Why?“ The question tumbled from her lips without warning. She wanted, needed to know for sure. Wanted closure to fall from his lips.

„Why what?“ He just asked calmly, his indigo eyes still holding her gaze. She swallowed as she played with the laces of her cloak.

„The crown. Why did you think I should have it?“ She was as taut as a bow string and Rhaegar noticed. His gaze slowly moved over her lovely features, taking in her dark eyelashes as her eyelids momentarily closed. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were red and parted.The sight tore a little gasp from his lungs.

„Because you deserved it. Because chivalry and gallantry are ideals that many sworn knights fall short of. Anyone can buy a shining armor, but not everyone stands up for the weak. You jousted well for your friend's honor and you were unfairly forced to stop because of my father's paranoia. I wanted you to take  _some_  reward with you from this tourney, because you were the person that deserved it the most.“ He sighed, feeling all of it was coming out wrong. „I'm sorry if I offended you, I...“

„You didn't offend me.“ She reassured in a low voice.

„Why are you upset, then?“ Rhaegar asked softly, trying to meet her gaze again. It surprised her. When she looked up, he was closer to her than she could remember. She could almost feel his breath on her face and it made her breathe faster. It didn't help when the sudden movement made his gaze drop for a moment to the swell of her chest and they both pulled back an inch, as if from a fire.

 „I'm not.“ Lyanna said resolutely. Then she continued in a quiet husky tone, grey eyes glancing up at him. „A lot of people understood it wrong, is all.“ 

Rhaegar just nodded, not wanting to push the subject. It was clear to him she was unsettled, it was more than a good guess that he'd caused it, one way or another. A stab of regret protruded him, he certainly didn't mean to.

„I'm sorry if it caused you trouble.“ He whispered sincerely.

„Don't be. I'm not.“ She murmured back, acutely aware his face was close to hers yet still. Looking at him, Lyanna wondered what would happen if she were to climb on her toes and press her lips to his. How his tresses would feel underneath her fingers, if she would feel a rush of thrill through her maiden body like she did that day, when his breath warmed her neck and his hands held her hips. And if she did, would he deny her?

Then, a guilty thought of his wife came to her, cutting down all boldness. Of course he would deny her. It wasn't hers to ask for, it wasn't his to give. If he even wanted to which she somehow doubted he did.

Clearing her thoughts, she continued in a steady voice. „I understood what it meant. And I am grateful. I mean it. It was a great gift. Thank you.“ Lyanna looked up and smiled shyly, biting her lip. He smiled back but his eyes were no less sad.

 „In that case, I'm glad I did it.“ She gave a slight nod and a beat of silence passed between them.

Rhaegar took a deep breath and continued. „Listen, I called you because I didn't want to go without saying farewell. It's highly unlikely we'll ever see one another again...“ His voice trailed and her breath got stuck in her throat at the thought, even if she already knew it to be true.

„...but I just wanted you to know I do indeed find you brave.“  _And beautiful_ , he added mentally but it seemed a dangerous notion to confess more than once. „I hope you lead a happy life, Lyanna Stark. And If you'll allow me a piece of advice from someone who is married to someone who is not, don't let it consume you. You're still you, no matter what. Don't forget. I certainly won't forget you any time soon.“

How damning it was, she thought, that someone who would soon be a perfect stranger cared more about such a thing than her future husband ever would. Lyanna swallowed down her anguish and disappointment.

„Thank you. I'll take that into account.“ She managed to say without her voice shaking. It was a relief, she didn't want to cry. Not in front of him. „I wish for you to be happy as well, My Prince.“ She added quietly, meaning it with all her heart.

He nodded, then a playful smile spread on his lips as he thought to brighten the situation. „You know you can just call me by my name, right?“

Not one to be without a sense of humor, she smiled back a pretty wolfish smile and her eyebrows rose. „Huh, you tell me that now that we'll never see each other again.“

As her eyes fell to his lips again and she felt that uncontrollable pull, all semblance of jesting was gone. Hurting, itching to just reach out and touch him, she swallowed down hard. Then, something unexpected happened. Rhaegar leaned in and his lips brushed her cheek. She couldn't breathe, all she could do was feel. Her eyelids closed and she tried so hard to memorize his burning imprint on her skin.  

„Farewell, Lyanna Stark.“ He whispered to her ear before he donned the hood of his cloak back on and turned away.

Tearing her gaze away from his retreating silhouette, Lyanna moved, forcing her legs in the opposite direction toward the tents. Her step seemed light, but a heavy bubble grew in her chest, suffocating her. She was still aware of that piece of her skin his lips touched, she trembled as she ran her fingertips over it. In an absent moment, she brought them back and pressed them to her lips. It was as close as she would come to feeling him there.  

 


	11. About a Duty

 

„We need some water in here!“ Yelled Cersei as she turned back toward Ser Oswell who she could see through the half-open gilded doors of the royal carriages. The knight's rather calm eyes immediately fell on a servant near by, who disappeared for a second only to return with a silver container of fresh water.

„My Princess, are you well?“ Cersei crooned as she held the hand of the pale, exhausted-looking figure of Princess Elia. Despite her quite dark complexion, it seemed all the color had been drained out of her face as the Princess laid back into the crimson pillows. Cersei leaned in and angled the silver cup to her lips and the Princess accepted carefully with both hands, letting the cold liquid trail down her throat.

„Thank you, Lady Cersei.“ She whispered hoarsely with a sigh, giving her back the cup.

 _Poor sickly woman_ , Cersei thought, not with a small amount of abhor. That this frail, pitiful woman was married to the glorious Targaryen prince, it just didn't make any sense to her. It had been a grand pity, and Cersei was sure that had been clear to anyone who would see her on the silver Prince's arm. That she had managed to give the Prince a child, _although a daughter_ , it had to have been a small miracle.

No wonder Rhaegar dumped that crown he had won onto the first woman who wasn't his wife; he must have given it to the Stark girl as an apology for knocking her brother out of his senses. A darker part of Cersei itched to pull the subject with the Princess, gauge her reaction but she feared that level of brass might cost her in the long term and wasn't really worth the amusement.

The lioness wondered if the princess herself was aware that she was outshined by almost any woman who kept in her vicinity to serve her. She had to be, mayhap that was why she was so reluctant to socialize with other highborn ladies besides Lady Ashara who she had known for such a long time. But Cersei wasn't about to give up, for her the goal had been clear and if she would have to kiss at the princess' feet for a while, so be it.

„My Princess, you won't be able to travel this way. The Prince isn't back yet; mayhap you should stay, have the maesters do an examination...“

Elia gave her an unusually firm gaze, one that suggested she wanted to quell all discussion. „That won't be necessary.“ She answered in a dry tone, angling her head away. Cersei just sighed, not really caring.

The golden-haired woman rose to her feet, replying with a frozen smile as she left the carriages. „If you need me, I'll be right here Princess.“

Cersei looked around; surely the Prince or Ser Arthur were somewhere in the vicinity as well. Jaime was already on the road; he was assigned to travel with the Mad King's portion of the royal party. Since Rhaegar hadn't returned yet and Elia hadn't been feeling well, the Mad King rushed back to King's Landing by himself.

She herself would travel with the princess for a part of the road, then Jaime should accompany her back to Casterly Rock. Or at least, such had been the current arrangement. Cersei had high hopes of being given permission by her Lord Father to return to King's Landing with Jaime. And for that, she'd needed to charm the Princess into allowing her to stay in her service.

That part of the plan went rather well; ever since the opening dinner in the Great Hall, Cersei hadn't left the Princess' side. She helped her to her medications if she felt weak and she listened to her ramblings with half an ear. She even sat beside her as her husband passed her in the stands. The task of keeping close to the Princess had been easier than she'd thought since Lady Ashara seemed to evaporate into dust on several occasions. Cersei didn't dwell too much on the subject; as long as she wasn't in her way.

Now, only persuading her father was necessary, and Cersei hoped that part would go as smoothly. If her marriage proposal that she'd looked so happily to had been destroyed by no one other than to those filthy Starks, at least she would stay by Jaime's side. It had been a consolation prize however, and Cersei didn't take to losing lightly. 

She found Robert Baratheon to be rather handsome with his muscular physique and striking blue eyes, even on par with Jaime although no man would ever be her Jaime. But Robert had one up on him, and it was the fact that he was a high lord in his own right, governing a whole kingdom. Cersei did not dread his sheets, but she more than yearned for the opportunity of being Lady of Storm's End.

The sight of two rather handsome men approaching snapped her out of her thoughts, even if one of them drew Cersei's eye more. It had been the Prince accompanied by Ser Arthur, _finally_ Cersei thought. She had been eager to start this journey and even more, she found the Dragon Prince to be a sight for sore eyes, with his mysterious indigo eyes and beautiful soft-looking silver tresses.

 _If only if he wasn't married._ Cersei found herself wistfully thinking. If he had been a man of lesser character, Cersei would consider trying to seduce him at least as a mistress. However, she knew any such attempts would be void, for the Prince was an exceedingly kind and dutiful man, not one who would disgrace his wife, as dreadful as she was.   

„My Prince.“ Cersei sang with a practiced curtsey and a measured smile and the Prince approached with an equally pleasant but practiced expression on his fair face.

 „Lady Cersei.“ He gave her a soft kiss on her knuckles and Cersei found herself ever so slightly blushing. The Prince however, did not linger further than what was polite as he made his way forth and Ser Arthur trailed in his wake.

Casually turning around, Cersei spied the scene of the two men approaching Ser Oswell and she sighed. Even from a distance, she could see the Prince's expression grow more pale and troubled as he spoke to the other man.

Not a moment later, he made his sharp way toward the royal carriages where Princess Elia was still taking her rest.

* * *

 

 „Elia, are you well?“ Rhaegar asked in a soft, concerned voice as he crouched beside her. His hand tenderly turned his wife's chin for her to look at him. The Princess gave him a soft, weak smile as her dark obsidian eyes studied him, then sighed.

„'Tis nothing, My Prince. 'Tis to be expected, since I'm carrying.“

That the news didn't leave him feeling surprised nor conflicted, Rhaegar could not say. His reaction was nonetheless nothing other than appropriate, as he embraced his wife and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

* * *

 

As the sun started falling and she persisted on her path, Lyanna couldn't still her heartbeat if her life depended on it. It was a feverish kind of a thing, mind going in circles, overwhelming and she could feel tears of frustration pricking at the corners of her eyes. Rhaegar had called her brave, but she was no more than a coward. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be full of regret right now as she thought back to all she didn't dare do. _But she couldn't_ her head reminded her. She had a duty. And so had he. The most she could do was hold onto a couple of stolen moments in her memory, and already she knew it would be torture.

If only she had never met him. The thought immediately brought with it a different kind of regret. _Nay, she wouldn't have it another way._ Thinking back to it, Lyanna felt a strange yearning for her crown, the only tangible evidence she had left of it all.

Finally reaching her tent and walking inside, seeing her stuff in chaos and ripped rose petals on the floor, the weight in her chest became too heavy to bear and she crumpled down, hot tears stinging in her eyes as she wondered why she wasn't allowed even a single thing to hold close and dear to her.

Suddenly hearing footsteps behind, Lyanna forced herself into composure; she wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. Righting herself, she turned around and Brandon walked up to her, his hard stare pinning her and his jaw set in anger. She wasn't sure she had enough strength to deal with him now.

„What did you do?“ He spat impatiently with scold, his own wolf's blood boiling beneath the surface. She knew him enough to know that.

„Nothing.“ She averted his gaze and took a deep breath. She didn't want to have this conversation again.

He scowled in her face. „Right, the Prince just gave you that crown over his wife for nothing. I won't ask you again, what did you do Lyanna?“

Lyanna shook her head absently, her voice with a softest trail of hurt permeating it. „Nothing that you think I did.“

Her brother's voice resounded in accusation. „And what am I thinking, huh? Am I thinking that you gave yourself to that...“

„I wish to the Gods I had!“ She snapped, her hands tightening into fists. He just looked at her stunned, mouth falling open. He couldn't believe he heard her say that.

In a small hurt voice, she continued. „Then all this reprimanding would have been worth it. Do you know Robert was here while you were gone? And that he told me I'm his property. Is that all I am? To you, to our father, is that all that matters? That I'm unsoiled so our father can sell me to the highest bidder. Huh? “ She sobbed, giving him a shove against his chest and Brandon's heart instantly softened. No matter what, she was his little sister, and he couldn't bear to see her suffer. Even if she was a crazy, willful being who couldn't stop wrapping a noose around her own neck.

He crushed her into his arms without a word, she felt so small and slight against him. A wisp of a thing; he could lift her with one arm, like he could when she was a child. He remembered when she really was just a little kid covered in dust, running around with Ned and Benjen, climbing trees and ruining her skirts. How his biggest worry was her falling down and snapping her neck. And the more she grew, the more difficult she was to deal with. His sister's skin was growing too tight, but there wasn't anything he could do about it anymore he could about his own responsibilities.

Cradling her head and smoothing back her soft, dark curls, he spoke softly, his voice contrite. „Lya, I'm sorry, I am. You know I love you, you are my little sister, my dearest everything, you know that?“ She nodded but it was lost against his chest.

„You just have to admit it's a little weird, right? And I know you like...him. But you're too young to understand, I'm just trying to keep you safe.“

Lyanna looked up at him severely, tears in her eyes. „I didn't do it. I didn't. And you don't know him, he would never...“

„Alright, it's alright I believe you.“ Brandon whispered soothing her. Still holding her, he looked around and only now noted the mess her tent was in. His brows furrowed as he saw her crown on the floor, ripped to shreds.

„Why did you tear up your crown?“

„I didn't.“ She murmured a moment later. „I thought you did.“


	12. Of Dreams and Longing

Rhaegar's eyes slowly fluttered open; the violent overreach of sun stared straight into them, causing discomfort. Lifting his arm over his face to protect from the sunrays, Rhaegar realized he somehow fell asleep in the open, with the bright blue sky above him and the chirp of birds coming to his ears from the side.

Rising, feeling the texture of the grassy field beneath his bare feet, Rhaegar looked around, assaulted by the beautiful picture of wild nature shining vividly in its green colors, and the hum of a river battling against the rocks near by.

He didn't know why, but he moved. It was like some foreign force was pulling him in direction of a small stony sidepath. As he walked, he could swear he had heard a sound of a child's laughter but it was faint, as if carried forth and away by the wind. His feet dragged him themselves toward the sound and Rhaegar simply looked on, mesmerized. Everything was brighter, fuller somehow, permeating him with peace. This must have been some kind of a magical place, he thought, not dwelling on the mystery any further.

Suddenly, a little boy with a head of soft dark curls tottered toward him. Rhaegar opened his mouth, startled, crouching down to get a better look at the little lad. He slowly extended his hand to the little boy not to frighten him. The toddler accepted, his inquisitive silver grey eyes looking at him, studying him. The boy didn't seem surprised or scared, in fact it seemed to Rhaegar like the child had a better idea of what was going on than he did.

„Papa.“ The little boy sang to him and Rhaegar watched on in surprise. It wasn't Aegon, but _The dragon must have three heads_. Was this his third prince, talking to him in a dream? Looking at the sweet little boy, Rhaegar just knew it was his son, even if he didn't know where the intense feeling had come from. The head of curls shook in direction to the left and the boy softly tugged at his hand. Rhaegar stood back straight and let himself be lead by the boy further, hearing the murmur of river water become more distinct by the second.

Following the young boy through the misted grass, Rhaegar had attempted many times asking just where they were going, but the boy would just shake his head in seriousness and tug at his hand, as if telling him he had to come along to see. The boy wasn't an ordinary boy, even now Rhaegar could tell. He seemed far too serious and determined, like there was an odd wisdom about his son that went against inherent childishness.

As they approached the glistening slope of water and a stony bridge, Rhaegar could see a silhouette of a woman dressed in a silky, white dress on the other side. She was turned away from him; the only thing he could discern from the distance was a semblance of dark tresses spilling down her shoulders, carried by the winds.

The boy hurried his step, dragging him with as he took on conquering the other end of the bridge. Rhaegar's eyes were left on the mysterious figure; even if they were moving forward it seemed like forever. He felt a strange yearning for her even if he didn't know who she was. His first assumption was it must have been Elia, but even from this distance, it didn't seem right. _Could it have been? No._

„Mama.“ His little companion yelled as he tore off from his grasp and into sprint toward the ethereal figure. And then _she_ turned, just in time to scoop the little boy up in her arms and to place a kiss on his cheek as his pretty dark curls disappeared in her own.

Rhaegar stopped in his tracks, just observing the scene before him mutely. The woman had been his winter rose, as pale and excruciatingly beautiful as he remembered her. And the thought, that the little boy in her arms had been theirs, it made his heart swell with pride. As she looked up and noticed him, she gave him a small smile, as if she'd been expecting him.

The last steps were a mere technicality, he couldn't take his eyes off of the image of them. Nearing them, breathing in the scent of winter and feeling the warmth of her body, Rhaegar felt an incredible relief. She hadn't been just a fainting image, she was the body and the soul, her the material being. She leaned into him and he placed a soft kiss on her lips, thanking the Gods she was there, that he was there. That their little boy was there.

„I see you met our little Prince.“ She whispered to him and he just pulled her in closer, his kisses getting lost in her hair. Her hair smelled of winter roses and felt like silk under his fingers.

„Lyanna, please don't leave me.“ He didn't know where the feeling had come from but it did. An overwhelming fear that she wasn't real washed over him, like she would shatter in any moment.

„This is not real. Not yet.“ She whispered as her feathery fingers traced his lips, confirming all his worse fears. Rhaegar felt a sudden desperation overwhelm him, like he was suffocating. His winter maid pulled back and the feeling got worse when he couldn't reach for her, an excruciating pain burned in his chest. 

„Lyanna...“ Rhaegar wasn't sure he could speak anymore, it seemed to him like his lungs had crumbled under some kind of pressure. His eyes closed and he fell to his knees.

The pain suddenly ended with a couple of desperate intakes of breath, and the Prince rose from his silken sheets in panic. Frantically looking around, he realized he was nowhere else but in his own room; the quiet crackling from the fireplace could still be heard. His body felt feverish, his brain scrambled. But Rhaegar could still remember, he remembered every single thing.

The little boy. His little prince talking to him in a dream. The smell of winter roses that still burned in his nose. It had been a message, he was sure of it. But the more he thought about it, the more he was terrified. He dreamt of Lyanna, that she was the mother to his little boy. For the longest time, he was sure Aegon was the Promised Prince, but this dream had left no doubt in his mind that the prophetic hero was yet to be reborn.

Running his hand over his face, Rhaegar rose from the bed in agony, hurriedly donning the rest of his clothing and exiting the doors.

It had been his lucky day or night, he thought, when he realized Ser Arthur was posed outside his door in watch. Upon suddenly seeing his friend up in the middle of the night, unsettled, Arthur's eyes took on an expression of worry. „My Prince, are you feeling well?“

„No.“ Was all that Rhaegar said. He knew the reply hadn't been quite descriptive, but there wasn't much he could do to explain his dream to himself, let alone someone else.

„Walk with me Arthur, please.“ He ordered exasperated as he took the lead in the hallway, his pace unsettled as his soul had been. Rhaegar felt like he was suffocating, like he needed clean air. If there ever was a time to take a walk through the royal gardens in the night...

Catching up to him in a dignified manner as would only become a knight of his calibre, Ser Arthur looked upon his Prince's face, seeing he was deeply troubled. He'd known Rhaegar had dreams, often nightmares, and that the fact these dreams have been both a save and a curse to members of his family who took them seriously meant he was torn, conflicted on his own experiences.

However, he was never like this; to Arthur it seemed that whatever the Prince had dreamt had the potential to make or break an entire world. Knowing better than to probe before he had time to collect his thoughts, Arthur remained beside him as they walked through the dark green maze of the gardens, offering the comfort of silent companionship instead.

Then the Prince began, the troubling tone of his voice indicating he wasn't any calmer than he was minutes ago. „My friend, you know me. I have always walked the line between my dreams and reality, and so far it had been easy considering the two had coincided.“ 

The other knight nodded in confirmation, very well understanding the Prince was referring to his marriage to Princess Elia and the birth of their little princess and prince. 

Rhaegar continued softly. „And you know that the maesters have told Princess Elia that she may no longer bear children.“

„The maesters could be wrong.“ Arthur offered, hoping a speck of positive doubt would ease the Prince's mind. No such luck.

„They aren't wrong, Arthur.“ The Prince shook his head. „I had been wrong all along. About everything. When Aegon was born, I looked for the signs of The Prince that was Promised.“

„And you found them.“ Arthur reminded and Rhaegar sighed in dismissal. „I saw what I wanted to see. The signs are vague enough, do you know how many interpretations could be there? I knew that all along, but I thought that had to be it, that _he_ had to be it. After all, winter is coming, and the Promised Prince would come from the line of my parents, would he not?“

„My Prince, did you dream something that changed your mind on that?“ Arthur asked directly, seeing no point in going around anymore. 

The Silver Prince seemingly ignored the question, lost in his own thoughts. „Do you remember Harrenhal?“

Ser Arthur smoothly answered. „Of course My Prince. It hadn't been a six moons' turns since we returned from the tourney.“

Six moons. It seemed so long, to be away. To be without _her_. Rhaegar shook his head. „And you know that I've struggled, since my return.“

Arthur looked carefully over his friend, not sure that noticing his lovesickness was a wise thing to confess to. In truth there hadn't been a soul in court that hadn't noted Rhaegar had been even more sullen than usual, that he seemed like he lost a part of himself ever since his return. Locking himself away for hours with the silver harp as his only consolation, drowning the nearby halls in the most sorrowful of melodies. 

Inclining his head with uncertainty, Arthur returned in a soft murmur. „It's...not my place to say, My Prince.“

„Oh Arthur, for the love of the Gods, speak freely.“ Rhaegar chastised. Then he continued with a sigh. „Please, I need someone to talk to about this. My head is driving me crazy. Let's just drop the pretense.“

„Is this about Lady Lyanna then, My Prince?“ Arthur asked carefully, feeling somewhat conscious about bringing up aloud her name.

„I'd thought it was infatuation.“ Rhaegar confessed. „I'd thought it would go away. I hoped, I prayed. She has a duty. _I_ have a duty. It was what had stopped me. I thought of Elia, of our children. And when that wouldn't help I thought of her honor, how my selfishness could ruin her life. And when all of it would stop making sense, I'd console myself saying my sole duty in this world is bringing the prophecy of the Promised Prince to life and that my own happiness is the least of the things I should be concerning myself with. I thought it a sacrifice.“

„And now?“ Ser Arthur pressed with a worried sort of curiosity, as his arm leaned against the famous sword carried on his hip.

„I dreamt of a little boy. Little boy around three, he ran to me, his head full of dark curls. His eyes the silver-grey of Valyrian steel.“ A pause. „He is the Promised Prince, Arthur.“ Rhaegar's voice continued, desperate. „I could feel it, in the dream, I could just tell. He came to me, he gave me his little hand, and I felt like he had things to teach me. Then he ran to his mother's skirts.“

„Lady Lyanna.“ Arthur had finished his thought for him and Rhaegar just sighed, his pain nonetheless apparent.

„What do I do? In the dream I felt fear. And I looked toward her and I asked her not to leave me. And she told me none of it was real, yet. I can only take one meaning from that, don't you think?“

Arthur's own indigo eyes burned seriously into his. „I agree, My Prince. The meaning seems to be clear. If there is a meaning at all.“

Rhaegar's own heart clenched with doubts as he considered the comment. „What do you mean by that?“

„You've said it yourself, My Prince. Lady Lyanna had been stealing an awful lot of your headspace lately. Are you sure this dream was of prophetic nature, and not just a lover's longing? Are you willing to risk to find out?“ 

The knight could see this answer wasn't the one the Prince was looking for. He searched for reassurance, but his friend couldn't have in good faith offered it. „I'm so sorry, My Prince, that you are suffering. I won't pretend I know how that feels like, but I have to suggest you let a clear head have a lead before your heart. You need to forget about her. For both your sakes. By the end of the year, she will be a married lady. And with the Gods' help, Princess Elia shall give you another child.“

„So your advice is I do nothing?“ Asked Rhaegar in a defeated voice.

„I'm afraid my advice is as simple as that.“


	13. A She-Wolf's Cage

„They are coming.“ Benjen croaked with a grin, and his sister showed up on the doorway in a matter of seconds. While Benjen's face held excitement, likely at the prospect of Ned finally coming home after so long, Lyanna's expression was one of ice, her mind stuck on something or someone else entirely. The fact that Ned wasn't coming alone annulled any joy she might have felt at the fact he was coming at all.

Not a moment after, the figure of their Lord Father appeared behind them. His hand affectionately held onto Lyanna's arm, seemingly directing her back inside. „Look at that dress of yours, it is soiled. Maybe you should change into something more hospitable. Your brother isn't coming alone after all.“

Like she needed to be reminded. Lyanna's lips straightened into a thin line, her nostrils expanded with a sudden wave of frustration she felt washing over her. She steeled herself, knowing any direct expression of emotion would only serve her feeling indignant.

„Maybe later. Excuse me, father.“ She mumbled coldly and took her leave outside rather than in. While Lord Rickard was in all his power and intention to stop her, the look on Benjen's face changed his mind. The Warden of the North knew his daughter to be a willful and hotheaded creature; it was better to let her find her peace by herself and have her return calm, rather than have her rage expressed on the perceived source of it itself.

Lyanna's step guided her toward the godswood, why she felt drawn there could not be quite explained. Maybe for it was the only place where she felt she could run from it all, the only place where she felt an invisible cloak of protection guarding over her. Lyanna didn't like protection, mostly because in her world it came with an iron cage, she didn't like feeling like she needed protection. She had done well for herself, making sure she was skilled enough to defend herself if it need be. Even now, she had a knife up her sleeve, even though no trace of danger would ever be found in this place.

Her sorrow was of different kind entirely, the kind that made her wish she could curl into herself and wither away. She could protect her body, _at least for now,_ but it felt her heart and soul walked outside it, on a tight leash guided by her father, lead into doom. Her father who was willingly delusional about any prospect of her happiness.

Reaching the heart tree, Lyanna felt an inexplicable need to get closer. She fell on her knees, her slight, pale hands touching to the dark roots that emerged from the ground. She had placed her faith in the Old Gods before, mostly asking for strength. Not one of delusions that things could happen without cause or consequence, she never asked for events, only to be aided in overcoming them, whatever they might be.

But this time, helplessness overwhelmed and Lyanna begged for her marriage not to happen. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, she didn't even bother wiping them away. Small droplets disappeared in the darkness of the tree roots, and seeing them absorb, she felt a strange sense of relief.

Taking a deep breath, inviting composure, Lyanna righted herself and reached to dust off her dark skirts, but then she didn't.

* * *

 

„My boy. How was your trip?“ Her father intoned in a rather warm voice for his customs as his arms wrapped around his second eldest son.

Eddard just smiled shyly, moderately like he was in everything he did, but Lyanna could see he was glad to be back. Shying away in the background, she observed the scene even if she knew her behavior would be deemed unusual, considering in the past they would have to pull her off her brothers even if they were gone and back in a days turn. Benjen was the next one, throwing himself into his brother's arms, as Lord Rickard and the Stormlord shared a firm handshake. It made Lyanna feel sick.

Her face must have showed it for in the next moment, the gentle but rather disappointed voice of her brother drifted to her. „Lya? Are you not happy to see me?“

Her eyes falling on Ned's solemn face, Lyanna approached hurriedly and threw her thin but strong arms around him. Her brother just sighed shallowly, as he held her.

„Of course I'm happy to see  _you_.“ Her voice croaked into his shoulder and Ned understood the implication.

„I'm happy to see you too.“ He returned, holding his sister close as his icy eyes drifted from left to right in defeated realization.

As much as Ned loved and enjoyed the company of his ward brother, he just as well understood that Lyanna did not quite so. He hoped it would come to pass, but it seemed Lyanna had not yet made peace with her destiny. It saddened him, and a silent guilt gnawed at him at the thought that his sister's sorrow might have been in part for his doing.  _It's the way it has to be._ he consoled himself. Father knew what he was doing. In two years turn, Lyanna would be happy and content, possibly with a rocking babe on her knee.

Releasing him, his sister smiled a rather warm smile at him despite it all and it brought back memories of childhood.

„My Lady.“ The quiet but pronounced voice drifted over to them and Lyanna turned, sparing Robert a cold glance. She still hadn't forgotten what had happened at the tourney, how he came into her tents and demanded obedience of her. Like he had the right. And then, when he didn't get what he wanted, he resorted to destroying a mere crown of flowers, as if that was the source of his rage. She just wondered if his ire found any relief from that.

„Lord Baratheon.“ She returned with ice in her voice, only rivaled by the ice in her grey eyes. Robert was taken slightly aback; even in his lack of gift for subtlety, he clearly understood the message her posture sent. She was upset with him, resentful. He wondered for a moment if he deserved it. His approach at the tourney could have been better, but he had done nothing another jealous suitor wouldn't do. Surely his lack of reaction would alarm more, if he just stood back and watched another man lay his claim on her. Couldn't she see it was an expression of his affection and care for her?

He reached out with his hand, in a second worried she might embarrass him but she didn't. Her hand hovered over his in a second and he brought it back to her lips, placing a consciously measured kiss on her pale knuckles. It was a small victory and he prefered not think it was for her father stood right behind her.

„Where is Brandon?“ Ned's voice inquired and Lyanna was grateful for the distraction. She pulled her arms back to herself, her hands fidgeting behind her back.

„Went out riding.“ Benjen grinned and Ned ruffled his hair. Benjen's head nodded toward his sister. “This one wanted to go with him, but she wasn't allowed...you know.“

It was luck for Benjen that he was the youngest one, it meant he could get away with saying a lot more than was appropriate.

Feigning ignorance, not to rub salt on his friend's wound, Ned just nodded and ignored the rest. They all made their way back into the castle, Lyanna just spared a look back, toward the stables. If only she could mount her mare and be somewhere else in a blink of an eye.

 

 


	14. A She-Wolf's Cage II

 

Lord Rickard had already took care of all the preparations; a delicious feast was being set up in the main hall of Winterfell, a sure welcome to his son and the man who presumably joined along to accept his daughter's offered hand. The Stark siblings, short of one, their father and the guest were seated around a large table, but it couldn't have been said that the conversation flowed as freely as wine did.

It was painfully noticeable to Lyanna that Robert was chugging back way more than an average person could stand, and that Ned's eyes silently warned him more than once against it.

The Stormlord was most likely stressed by her presence and that of her father, Lyanna concluded. She hated that she could tell so easily, and hated even more the way he chose to deal with it. This man in front of her, the man she was supposed to marry was an open book in his simplicity. If only she liked what she saw one bit. She wondered what kind of an impression he left on her father, surely not a distinctively positive one. It seemed his name and standing would overshadow it all regardless.

„So tell me Lord Robert, are there any news from the Stormlands? How is your brother?“ Inquired Lord Rickard calmly, his icy stare tracing over the other man's reddened cheeks.

„My Lord, not much. Renly is well, as well as he can be.“

„A loss of a mother is a tremendous loss.“ Replied Rickard thoughtfully and all the siblings sullied, remembering the very woman who gave birth to them. Lyanna touched her hand to her neck, finding her cold, silver pendant there. It was the only thing she had left of her mother. Considering Robert's stare had been on her the whole time, it would be a surprise if he had missed the movement.

„My lady, I like your necklace. Does it hold any emotional value to you?“ He asked and Lyanna sighed and answered listlessly.

„Yes. It was my mother's.“ Her eyes burned into his as she answered, and Robert's jaw protruded; he was clearly not pleased with how his try at attentiveness had fared with her. Thinking of another thing that probably held emotional value to her, he felt rage bubble under his surface. If she wouldn't meet him halfway, he wasn't the only one to be left slighted. He turned his head toward her father instead.

„My Lord, It's with only luck that even the highest among us are saved from it. Like for example Princess Elia, I'm sure it would be a great loss for our crown prince had the princess perished giving birth to his son. Her health is known to be frail.“ 

 At the mention of Rhaegar, Lyanna's heart trembled and her eyes shot up, then quickly averted. And then the notion that Rhaegar only had a little daughter last she'd seen him and that the princess was present, as was the distinct flat of her stomach, it made her come to uncomfortable realizations.

Wanting to calm her wildly beating heart, Lyanna reached out for her cup of water. Coughs rattled her chest as the trail of water went down the wrong alley, it wasn't even feigned on her part.

„Lya, are you alright?“ Ned place a gentle hand on her back in concern, and she nodded, now red in the face herself.

„I will be. I think I need to lie down, I don't feel so well. Would you be so kind to accompany me?“ Her grey eyes shone in silent plead and Ned understood she wanted to talk to him alone. Nodding to their father as they rose, the two siblings retreated.

Once inside her room, Lyanna shut the heavy wooden door and leaned her back against it. Ned slowly took seat at the edge of her bed.

„Ned, you can't let me get betrothed to that man.“ Her voice croaked in a desperate manner, and Eddard was taken aback. Her lack of enthusiasm wasn't lost on him, but that she was so defeated by it, it didn't cross his mind in all of its extent.

Ned replied in a measured voice, in part in an attempt to calm her.„That man is Lord Robert Baratheon, my ward brother. I assure you he is a kind man, he's just distraught with your presence. Lya...you can be intimidating a bit, you know that.“

„This has nothing to do with me.“ Came the small voice from his sister as her hand went to her heart. She moved to kneel before her bed where he sat, he went to stop her but she did anyway.

„Ned please, I beg of you, do something to stop this. I can't...I won't. Please.“ Her pretty grey eyes rose to his, tears glistening in them. His sister had never begged anything of him, not a single thing could come to his mind. And now she was on her knees, with despair he couldn't say he ever saw in her before. It tore at his own heart.

Ned sighed, and rubbed his hand over his face. „I can't promise anything. The best I can do is try to delay.“

A trace of hope sparked in Lyanna's eyes despite the tears and she gave him a reluctant smile. 

„Really? You'll do it?“ Her voice trembled with childish uncertainty that reminded him so much of her younger self. 

„Only if you rise from your knees right away.“ He didn't even get to finish his sentence and she threw herself around his neck, hugging him. „Lya, you know it's not for sure. I can't promise you anything, I can only try. For you.“

„I know, but try. Please.“ She was steadfast in her plead. Eddard seemingly hesitated, but then nodded in silent confirmation after they pulled apart. His lips stretched into a small, comforting smile as he met her watering gaze.

 „Thank you.“ She sighed grateful, her heart full with love for her brother.

„Now I should probably get back there, so you don't get betrothed without either of us having a say in it.“ Lyanna grinned despite the fact he was jesting of her misery.

„You should.“

As the heavy doors of her room closed with a mild screech, Lyanna lifted her hand to wipe away her tears; a small, hopeful smile still lingered on her face.  _Maybe if it can be delayed enough..._ Then, a dark cloud veiled over her thoughts again, as she recalled just what made her so furious and desperate for her own destiny, made her act like the wounded she-wolf she was.

Walking to her drawers, Lyanna pulled a small metal key from behind. Deftly she turned the key in its small lock that was keeping the contents of her middle drawer safe from undesired eyes. Her fingers searched over to the back of the drawer in the darkness until she felt the desired item under her fingertips.

Pulling the small piece of paper out, her hands unfolded it, still slightly shaking, and pressed sapphire-blue rose petals spilled. Afraid someone else might enter at any moment, Lyanna quickly crouched and picked them up, her hands gently scraping for them, careful not to ruin their frail existence.

It was only a handful, no more and Lyanna brought them up closer, inhaling the so familiar scent. It was something she would do more or less every day. The winter roses grew in the North, and Lyanna had always been fond of them. She never thought that a particular bunch would be worth to her more dry, than any field of fresh roses would ever be.

Then the bitter thought came to her, that as much as she held onto the memories of Harrenhal, both her secret identity as a knight and what it brought with it, the Prince had other things to do. Had he forgotten ever meeting her, she wondered. Their knowing of each other hadn't been that long after all, but Lyanna still liked to think it stuck with him.

He had said something to that effect that day in the godswood, did he not? That he wouldn't easily forget her. Even if he did – think of her that is, it was hardly the same nature of thoughts she had given him. She had been deluding herself –the thought came, she let her fantasies run too far.  _No more_ she decided.

It had been a moment of pride for her; it had been so easy forgetting that the man occupying her mind was a husband and a father, that he surely loved his wife. Now that thought was back in full force and Lyanna vowed to herself to let go.

She looked down at the slight blue petals, thinking about ripping them, finishing what Robert had started, but something didn't let her. Hurriedly, she spilled them back in the letter, and folded it, throwing it back in its drawer. What she wouldn't seek out, couldn't hurt her.

* * *

 

„Lord Rickard!“ The voice came from the outside and Rickard nodded to his guest, signifying that he will be back soon. Running his hand over his greying beard, the older man made his way outside, thinking one of his men was about to bother him with one thing or another.

Out of all the times, when he had just thought he had an opportunity to speak to Lord Robert alone. Benjen had been relentless in his attempts to find a reason to stay after Ned and Lyanna retreated, much on his sister's orders, Lord Rickard was sure. Even when he managed to send him for his rooms, he was sure his youngest son hovered in some corner or another, eavesdropping.

As the Lord of Winterfell took his leave, Ned made his way back toward his friend, a calm hand on the other man's muscled shoulder blade,  snapping Robert out of his daze.

„Robert, have you spoken to my father? Have you accepted the betrothal?“ Asked Ned in a calm, measured voice, his eyes studying his friend's murky ones, certainly clouded by drink.

„Not yet. I will Ned, I will. The youngest one of your brothers, he couldn't stop jesting for a second. We didn't come to speak of it yet.“

Ned's lips tightened into a straight line, thinking about how to best go about it all. „Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe you shouldn't yet.“

At this Robert's eyes widened and his voice took on an edge of determination. „What are you speaking of, Ned? I thought you were all for it. I am getting betrothed to your sister, whether you like it or not. What has possessed you to speak against it all of the sudden?“

Ned closed his eyes, continuing in a calm tone. „I didn't say you shouldn't be betrothed, far from it. I just don't think it's wise to accept the betrothal now. Robert, I am your friend, I'm on your side. I want for the both of you to be happy as you can be. That's why I'm telling you this. I know my sister.“

This time, it seemed more than just fuel for rage reached Robert's ears. „What do you mean?“

 „Lyanna needs time to adjust. If she feels forced into it, by you, by our father...she won't be happy. You will have a tough marriage going in. But however, if you show her respect by holding out until the two of you know each other better, she will grow to respect you and love will be easier to come by when you're indeed married.“

„You indeed think so?“ Asked Robert, still skeptical of his friend's words, but nonetheless intrigued. He had known the willful she-wolf he had grown so appreciative of didn't yet like him back in all the ways he wanted. Maybe he did need some guidance, on how to get to her heart.

„I do. I think it would be a wise thing for you to do. A mark of an honorable man. Surely in her eyes as well.“

Robert contemplated this for a second, then his lips spread in a devious smile. Ned smiled right back.

„You know Ned, you were always the wise one, the quiet one out of the two of us. Never tell me Jon Arryn slipped some romance novels into your chambers when you were to study your weapons.“

Ned took the jape with grace.„Aye my friend, you have uncovered my secret.“

Robert suddenly turned serious again. „What of Lord Rickard? He will surely be disappointed, he must be expecting...“

„My father will think naught of it.“ Assured Ned. „If he does, I shall speak with him. But surely he sees as well that this is the proper course. You and Lyanna should yet spend time together, get a bit closer before it's made official.“

„When?“ Robert grumbled, lifting his dark brows at his friend. „We leave first thing on the morrow for the Wall. We only made this side trip for you to visit your family for the day and for me to accept.“

„Well, as much as I can come visit my sister, she can come visit me as well, or nay? She would love another chance at a trip. In a couple of moon's turns let's say. Then you will have a chance to get to know each other. And after that, with the Gods' help, we can make this trip again and celebrate, aye?“

„Aye, my friend.“ The Stormlord took to patting the quiet wolf on his back. Ned just let out a barely noticeable sigh, thinking of all things a sister could make a man do. Making promises that didn't stand a chance of being fulfilled was at least one of them.

„Ned, help me out here, will you.“ His father voice drifted from the doors and both men's heads rose up, seeing that Lord Rickard was burdened with nothing more and nothing less than the full weight of his firstborn son, who seemed to drift in and out of consciousness.

Ned would have been worried if it had been the first time Brandon had returned home in a near coma. What possessed him to do so even now, when they had a guest, was not something Ned could explain though. It was oddly comforting for him to realize some things never change, even if they could only change for the best.

He hurried up, propping his older brother's arm around his shoulder, and very much easing the strain on their father's back. Robert moved to help as well, but Lord Rickard waved a hand, signaling that Ned would suffice.

„'Tis well that the beast knows its way home, he surely couldn't have directed it in this state.“ Lord Rickard noted with a sigh, he was not a man of great upsets. And with Brandon, one had to choose battles wisely and make sure he was sober if there was a lesson to be learned in it all. Although Brandon wasn't one for learning and improving either. But he was heir to Winterfell, and that would all have to change soon.

„He smells of a whorehouse.“ Ned commented with defeated incredulity. His father simply shot him a stern stare as they slowly moved toward Brandon's chambers.

 

 


	15. A Secret Uncovered

 „My King, you called?“ Came the soft pleasant voice of a plump man as he stood beneath the tall, scary installation that was the Iron Throne. His body was wrapped in a silky purple robe as his bald head lowered in respect to the crown. Jaime knew the man from before, if the figure standing before the throne could be called that. He was a eunuch after all.  Jaime found his presence oddly chilling; how could he not? With his dark, shiny eyes and completely hairless appearance, accompanied by that ethereal voice, the other figure had given off a rather unsettling impression. 

Jaime had heard tales according to which the mysterious figure was brought to court by the King himself, for King would not put his trust in his Hand nor in his glorious son. Instead, he sought out a complete stranger whose shady activities made him well-known even from across the sea. 

The Spider they called him as well, and his helpers the little birds. If there was a person in the Seven Kingdoms who had an uncanny insight into everything that went on in King's Landing and beyond, it had to be him. It could only inspire fear, the fact that a commoner from a different side of the sea managed to rise enough for the King himself to seek out his information and advice.

The King looked upon the strange man, as if startled, then he shifted uncomfortably atop of the giant chair of swords that was meant to inspire both awe and fear. „I need you to tell me what to make of this.“ The Mad King grumbled as his shiny indigo eyes scraped with burning anger from left to right. Then he brassly vowe his sumptuously sleeved hand, the attire hiding various cuts and bruises, Jaime knew. It hadn't been once that he'd seen the King injure himself against his own throne, and the boy hadn't even been in the Kingsguard for long.

The young knight's wide green eyes averted, staring dumbly into his own white armor instead. Jaime hated that he noticed such things, it made it harder for him to ignore several uncomfortable realizations he felt he was forced to come to. Namely the one that honor and obedience weren't often one and the same.

Jaime would lie if he would say that he hadn't hoped joining the White Cloaks would make the line separating an honorable man from the other kind clearer for him. After all, the one person that always made the line blurry, to the point Jaime had to wonder if there was one in the first place, was no one other than his twin.

Love and possession were fickle things, able to make a boy or a man dig so deep and find it in himself to do the most despicable of deeds. As Cersei often said, they were one and the same since their conception, intertwined to the point of non-distinction. There was no Cersei without Jaime, nor there was Jaime without her. And what man or woman wouldn't do everything under the sun in an attempt to feel whole?

The vows to the Kingsguard seemed refreshingly simple in comparison. Which was why, while Jaime's in part dreaded being away from Cersei, he also had a certain optimism tied to the notion he would be forced to grow into his own at court.

After all, he would be surrounded by men who inspired awe and respect with grace and dedication they performed their duty; Ser Arthur Dayne came to mind as such an example. Mayhap such environment could help him grow in a similar way, wash away all that which made the young lion uncomfortable within himself after the burning candles were out and all desires were quelled.

And now, nothing truly changed; his sister had been present and their affair continued all the same, except more dangerous considering their sinful deeds happened no less than under the King's roof.

Cat-green eyes observed with boredom as Ser Jonothor Darry swiftly approached in his own white armor, handing the guest a letter and a rather ruined gauntlet.

The Spider accepted what was extended to him with a peculiar kind of curiosity, especially as he spied the gauntlet. After looking at it intently for a few seconds, he handed the unpolished metal object back to the knight and short, plump fingers unfolded the piece of paper. His thin, effeminate voice reverberated through the main hall as he read the note, the words instantly planting a seed of panic within Jaime.

_The traitor that the King seeks is no knight, it's no man who holds lands and titles, it's no lord but it is a Stark. Seek no further than the first daughter of the North._

Handing the letter back in a fluid movement, Varys tilted his head. „Your Grace, as strange as this letter is, and the fact that it isn't signed, I must admit it makes a surprising amount of sense. The circumstances more than allow for it. If you wish, I can explore this matter further to be absolutely certain. However, if you allow me, I would suggest something else.“

„Then speak up loud and clear!“ The King screeched, seemingly losing patience. Varys did not have a particular reaction to the raised tones, he only inclined his head.

Then, in a graceful, smooth voice he continued. „If I may be so bold, Your Grace, the truth of this claim is hardly relevant. Even if the lady is guilty of playing at being a knight; assuming she's the identity behind the mysterious figure, the whole affair was hardly a slight against the crown. It shouldn't steal your sleep at night. Something else, related to this situation, might.“

Jaime mutely observed the scene, frozen, stunned at the fact that the cat was out of the bag about little Lyanna Stark. After all, the only people who knew of it were himself and Prince Rhaegar. Unless the Prince told someone, but the man wouldn't do that, he swore Jaime himself to secrecy.

Then something else came to mind; the night of their return into the Red Keep, how happy and content Cersei was that their father had allowed her stay at the court. How everyone was tired from the journey and distracted enough for the two of them to sneak away unnoticed with a rather large container of wine to an abandoned room. How they talked and how Cersei bitched about Robert and Lyanna, and then about Lyanna and the crown...could he have told her something without recalling? He hardly remembered his own name the morning after.

Jaime cursed himself for always ending up on the wrong side of the honor coin, apparently no matter how hard he tried. At Harrenhal, he agreed to keep a Prince's secret from the King, first mistake. And then he let that same secret slide, to his sister who had more than enough reason to slight the Stark girl; Jaime could swear Cersei's face would temporarily become green every time her name was even mentioned.

The loud shrill of the King's voice snapped Jaime's paled expression back to the unraveling scene.

„What are you speaking of?“ The King asked as his jaw angled in uncertainty. His wild purple eyes shone under a frown as they danced on the other man's smooth features. His attention was surely captured. 

Folding his hands in a rather effeminate gesture, the other figure continued. „My little birds tell me that a betrothal is on the way. A rather rushed joining of the direwolf and the stag, considering Lady Lyanna is but five-and-ten. Also one kept in hushes and whispers well enough that the information had just recently made its way to me.“

Seemingly gauging the King's impressions first, the Spider softly continued, averting his bottomless, starry gaze. „I had a thought to inform you, of course, but it just so happened you managed to summon me first, about a related matter.“

„Those bloody bastards.“ The King grumbled as his frail body shook with frustration, his blood clearly overflowing with ire. „First the talks of the Stark heir marrying the Tully girl, now this. Tullys, Starks and the Baratheons, and the Arryns, they are all working against the crown. My crown. I'll show them the light of fire, see how brave they are then.“

„My King, my suggestion for solving this situation would be simple. You can bring the daughter of Lord Stark here, under the pretext that there's evidence of treason. That way, she will be separated from her father who is trying to make her a valuable part of his political game. Then, you can find a fitting marriage proposal for her, someone you can trust. The Baratheons will surely be slighted, and any aspirations they had about uniting with the Starks will be destroyed.“

Jaime's eyes drifted over to the King with concern, surely he didn't plan to go through with that insane idea, dragging the she-wolf away from her family, kicking and screaming? The Spider was beyond scary, he was insane. That such a man had such a venomous, cunning tongue that appealed to the King's madness, Jaime could only dread the consequences. He even had the misfortune of having a hand in it all. The King's fixed, fiery gaze as he contemplated the suggestion didn't give the young lion any peace of mind.

* * *

 

As Rhaegar slowly pushed against the midway-open heavy white door, a very enjoyable scent of flowers overwhelmed him, as would often happen when he stumbled upon his mother's chambers. The woman had been rather fond of flowers, and was growing a small collection within her own chambers. Viserys had loved studying the flowers with her as well, often inquiring in his thin, childish voice of their names and kinds.

 No one was posed outside the door, which Rhaegar found peculiar, surely someone in the Kingsguard should be with the queen at all times. Maybe his mother hadn't been in her chambers, she did like to take a stroll through the royal gardens.

„My boy.“ The soft, loving voice drifted over to him, letting him know the Queen was indeed present.

Rhaella flowed over to her firstborn effortlessly in a huff of dark violet silks, taking his chin into her graceful, pale hand and turning his face so that she could look upon him. She was a warm and gracious woman, with kind, shining indigo eyes and soft silver tresses collected into a pretty bun. Rhaegar smiled at his mother, and accepted as she took his hand and drew him to the nearby couch.

„I apologize for not visiting you earlier, I had been rather busy.“

 Rhaella waved his concern off, then calmly settled her hands in her lap. „'Tis no bother, my sweet prince. I know that you have a lot of things to daily attend to, I shall only hope to find you happy and content whenever you do decide to visit me.“

Rhaegar let out a short, thoughtful sigh; being either happy or content was a far cry from where he was now. The words that would appropriately describe his state were somewhere between torn and haunted. But Rhaegar needn't worry his mother, the woman had enough of her own woes. The Prince knew that knowing he was safe and content brought her comfort so he responded in kind.

„Mother, I am well.“ Rhaegar gave her a small smile for extra measure of assurance. Then, he looked around with a frown, thinking to change the subject. „Where is Viserys? I haven't seen him either, for the longest time.“

The Queen simply let out a soft chuckle. It stunned and saddened Rhaegar from youth, how a woman of so many woes as his mother still found the strength within herself to put on a bright and comforting face for her children, even when she was the one in need of comfort. At least no current bruises marred her pale skin, as far as Rhaegar could tell. It had been a small consolation.

Living with the Mad King took its toll on the Queen in many unfortunate ways, and Rhaegar, when he was younger, aimed to speak freely of it as only a child would. His mother would only shush him, her fingers sealing his lips as she whispered that it was treason to speak that way. And treason was bad, that was something Rhaegar always understood. With age and grace, the crown prince had come to accept that some things aren't to be talked about, and that the biggest favor he could do his mother was to act indirectly and silently against the current situation.

At times, he thought himself a failure cause of it; which Prince could call himself honorable after removing his own father from his rightful seat of power? But then, it would only take a single glance toward his mother or his little brother, to see the fear in their averted eyes, for Rhaegar to understand that the Mad King indeed had to be removed from his position, and that damnation laid in inaction in his case.

„Viserys is with his nannies.“ Rhaella softly crooned. „He was here this morning, breaking fast with me, but I fear I had to allow him into more energetic hands for his playing time. I am getting older; it's not like I had you, when I had enough strength to chase after you.“ Then she added with a soft giggle, her eyes fixed to the side as if she recalled a memory. „Not that you would move out from whichever corner you sat in, when an interesting reading would capture your eye.“

Rhaegar just smiled shyly, he had heard those stories millions of times. There had even been a running joke about how his mother had to have swallowed a candle and a book when she carried him, so he could start his readings in the womb.

„Then I shall come by later, maybe in the afternoon to find both of you. I do yet have some things to talk about with Jon Connington.“ Rhaegar excused himself, raising and the Queen gave him a warm smile.

„Come by whenever you want, my son.“ Giving his mother a kiss on her cheek, Rhaegar moved to depart from her chambers. Outside, before he even had the time to step away from the polished white doors,  he ran into no one else but the man he intended to seek out.

„My Prince.“ Came the bright voice from the Hand of the King. Jon Connington was tall and strong,  with striking, alive eyes, although his oddly combed crimson hair contributed to a somewhat peculiar appearance. He was mostly known for his rare boldness and even recklessness at times, but there was no doubt he was a highly capable man.

Regardless of his highest position in the King's service, it was clear to everyone that Jon's true allegiances were with the Prince. He would prove to be an important and strong ally, Rhaegar always thought, when the time would come.

„Jon.“ Rhaegar greeted his friend politely, surprised a bit he ran into him. They continued walking down the brightly lit, gilded hallway. The two men were just about to enter Rhaegar's study when a stunned, _almost scared_ , look in Ser Jaime's eyes met them at the door. The young lion in white armor swallowed, as if he steeled himself before his wide green eyes rose to meet the Prince's gaze.

„Your Grace, we must talk.“  


	16. Under a Dragon's Wing

Lyanna looked on mesmerized at the beautiful sight that spread before her as she peered her head out the castle window, feeling a slight breeze of winds against her cheeks.The Riverrun castle hadn't been terribly large in its triangular form, but it still made for quite the sight as she could have noted when she and Brandon just arrived.

However, Lyanna prefered her view from the heights of the castle itself, for it seemed her gaze went out as far and wide as it was possible, over the green plains that met the bright blue sky on the horisont. It made Lyanna wish for a second she was a bird; if she were one, she was sure she would spend her days in air, studying and admiring the ever-changing nature beneath her, only landing down on trees in search of food and shelter. 

„What are you thinking of, my future goodsister?“ A bright, melodic voice snapped her head back, and Lyanna gave a small smile to the approaching figure.She had been occupying her chambers after all, since Lyanna's were not yet prepared. Brandon rode like the wind and Lyanna kept up, even if mystified at what it was that Brandon ran to. She wasn't about to be fooled her brother was too happy with his betrothal, even if his betrothed could be considered a very good catch. It was only natural people didn't like doing what they were told, man or woman.

Catelyn Tully was a very pretty girl, with soft-looking auburn tresses and shining bright blue eyes that betrayed a pleasant kind of enthusiasm. She was terribly polite and gave of an impression of being kind, as far as Lyanna could tell from their short knowing of each other.

The she-wolf had also soon discovered that she could not quite speak her mind around her the same way she could around her brothers. Every now and then, Catelyn's hand would move to her open mouth as an embarrassed giggle escaped her, making Lyanna rewind all her past words to figure out just where she went wrong.  So, Lyanna tried to watch her tongue at least a bit around her brother's betrothed, not wanting to be _that_ savage Northern girl that always says an inappropriate thing.

„You aren't insulted, right, that I call you that?“ Catelyn started uncertain, fiddling with her hands as she approached the middle of the room.

„Nay, of course not. You're right, we will be goodsisters. To my pleasure, if I dare say.“ Lyanna's grey eyes were kind as she tried to dissuade her, feeling bad that her natural behavior seemed to convince Catelyn she disliked her. She honestly did not have a single bad word for the girl; it only seemed they were cut from two entirely different cloths. Catelyn liked to talk about handsome men and dresses, even if she limited the former to Brandon in Lyanna's presence which she found rather amusing. She'd pointed it out, hoping to get a laugh out of her, but it seemed Catelyn just sulked with embarrassment.

Deciding to try a different strategy this time around, Lyanna reached out with her hand, inviting her to come closer to the window.

„It is beautiful, isn't it?“ Catelyn asked as she approached. Her pretty blue eyes traced over the familiar landscape.

„I was just thinking the same.“ Lyanna answered in her husky voice. Then she asked. „Maybe we could go out a bit together if you wish, go riding?“

Catelyn politely smiled, tilting her head as she replied. „Oh, I am afraid I'm not much of a rider. There's just not really been any need for me to learn well.“

„I could teach you.“ Lyanna immediately offered. „It's not hard at all, you just need to find a proper rhythm. Brandon is also a good rider, you might have to learn it whether you want it or not if you wish to keep up with him.“

At this Catelyn chuckled, at first it was loud in a way that positively surprised Lyanna. Then, the other lady pulled out a tissue to wipe away the tears that formed in her eyes as she gave a delighted sigh.

„Oh Lyanna, you are just too funny. Why would I chase him, much less on a horse? I shall hope he would wait for me, or even take me with him on his beast.“

„There is that.“ Lyanna softly agreed. She'd known from experience that sharing a horse with someone to your liking wasn't half bad. It wasn't once that she found herself sitting awake at nights, replaying that particular memory in her head.

Shaking her head at the turn her thoughts had taken, the she-wolf lifted her gaze back to the nature that expanded forth. She could see at least two large rivers: Red Fork and Tumblestone at whose crossing the castle itself was built. There must have been a dozen of tinier creaks, lending their water to the larger streams.

She was just about to ask Catelyn if she knew of any smaller rivers they could take a walk by, maybe even swim in if the water wasn't too cold, but she was intercepted.

„M'lady.“ Came a small, thin voice from the doors and both Lyanna and Catelyn instantly turned around, seeing a blonde, frail servant girl standing a few feet away.

 „M'lady, Lady Lysa isn't doing too well, she is...well...“ The girl seemed to be lost for words and Lyanna looked from her to Catelyn. She seemed to carry an expression of concern and something else, Lyanna thought, with the way her lips tightened.

„She hadn't risen from the bed this morning.“ The girl continued. „M'lady, we thought maybe you could talk to her...“

Catelyn looked to Lyanna regretfully, and Lyanna touched her hand to hers, meaning to reassure her. 

„You should go see your sister. Don't worry about me, I'll do well by myself. We can do something together later. Promise.“ Lyanna sought out her eyes as she gave her a small smile, trying to get her to brighten up, and Catelyn smiled back. She picked up her blue silk skirts and drifted to the doors, turning only to look at Lyanna once again before she took her leave down the hall.

Lyanna bit her lip as she walked to the middle of the room, thinking that Brandon was busy with Lord Tully, probably sweating at that very moment as his future goodfather scrutinized all of his faults. She would just have to find something to do by herself.

* * *

 

Lyanna looked back to the sight of the castle as the strong winds whipped her dark curls back; from where she was standing it hadn't been more than a dark speck on the horisont. She remembered hearing stories of how the castle of Riverrun was one of the best castles to be in during a war conflict; the fact it was practically surrounded by water on all sides let people who ruled over it easily deny access to anyone from the outside in case of a siege.

Although, Lyanna would almost prefer being outside if such an event were to occur; it would probably drive her crazy to sit locked in a castle, with nothing to do except wait for news. Even looking from the Wall over into white nothingness sounded better.

The thought reminded her of how, when she was younger, she went around telling people she would one day join the Night's Watch. She did at least, until Old Nan sat her on her lap and told her the story of Danny Flint. Many of Nan's stories were terrifying, especially for a younger child, but Lyanna remembered that one sticking with her for longer than any others.

Lyanna had more than once considered that her own grievances could largely be attributed to the fact she was of the fairer sex, much like with Danny Flint. After all, she would be the one who would be forced to be bedded and to carry children of a man that wasn't of her choice, and that wasn't a danger she could as easily escape.

Arranged marriages were terribly unfair, she thought, and even more unfair to women for the men would be still be allowed to do things they wanted, without having to give explanations and excuses to anyone. She as a woman, however, would be left to the mercy of her husband ( Robert Baratheon or not), at least until she got sick and mad enough with grief to end his life with a blade to his throat. Or who knew, many women endured their husbands in all their mistreatments and beyond; maybe she would bend and dull before she would break. Lyanna prefered not finding out.

Brandon himself would be married within a moon's turn; their father and Ned would get on the road later, just to be in time for the ceremony. Lyanna had been allowed to travel earlier with Brandon to meet his betrothed, and to help with the arrangements. An excuse she happily gave, even if she was only trying to use as much of her freedom as she could before it would be taken away from her.

Being within her father's sight made even the spacious plains around Winterfell seem small. Lyanna looked forward to exploring new land, as long as that new land wasn't in the Stormlands. Only a year ago, her father would let her do as she pleased, and now that her betrothal was nearing, he found issue with those same things. He chastised her for her inappropriate behavior as if she'd been the one that had changed.

 _If only he knew half of it_. Even if he wasn't there at Harrenhal, the story of the odd knight had made its way to his ears. He would surely have a heart episode, maybe larger than the one when Brandon was caught with his breeches down with that highborn lady whose name escaped Lyanna now. That was probably another thing she shouldn't tell Catelyn.

Suddenly, a very loud thunder of hoofbeats snapped her out of her thoughts. Lyanna rolled her eyes at first, assuming someone had been sent to look for her. She had been gone for a few hours after all.

Turning around, she could see that was far from being the case; her eyes widened as they fell on the black banner with the three headed red dragon drifting in the air at a near distance. Her first thought had been Rhaegar, but what would he be doing there?

Lyanna's heart picked up a pounding pace in her chest as a horrifying thought came to her; what if those were the Mad King's men, wanting to arrest her for treason? Had Rhaegar told on her? She wanted to brush away that thought; not only for her own safety but because that would mean she was wrong about him.

 Not wishing to find out, Lyanna turned and kicked her horse into gallop, thinking she should run before they had any time to corner her, no matter their intentions. She didn't stand a chance if she were to be surrounded, they were surely armed and in bigger numbers. The only way to escape was to outrun them. She didn't know the terrain well, which was a pity, but neither did they.  

Snapping her head around once more, she could see the men behind her pick up the pace as well, almost matching hers but she had a considerable headstart. There was no doubt left that those men were indeed chasing her.

Gazing back straight, she concentrated on the gallop. Sharp wolfish eyes intently searched for an exit or way to make a diversion. Tossing a couple short glances back, with the last one Lyanna noted she lost them and a small breath tore from her. However, as she continued forth, she realized in horror that a ring was forming around her from the other point, with previously unnoticed horsemen coming from the sides as well as directly toward her. She pulled her mare to a halt in panic. _Why in the hells would the king send so many men after one woman?_   

Then, she recognized one of the men from the distance, or rather, recognized his horse and armor. It was Ser Arthur Dayne. _So these men were indeed with Rhaegar._

Lyanna felt a sting of betrayal in her chest at the thought; it would only serve her well for her misguided trust to be her downfall. Even if many things still didn't make sense, like why just now, she figured she would have a chance to ask the Prince while she was in captivity. Maybe he'd at least do her that much, tell her why and cure her of any delusions she had about him, once and for all.

She stayed frozen in her spot, her body taut with anticipation as her dark grey eyes cast down. Trying to take a deep breath, she thought her lungs felt too tight. There was no running now; at least it was a pretty good guess they wanted her alive.

Looking up for a second, she saw Rhaegar with two of his White Cloaks, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, moving forward. At least he would do it himself, not hide behind his soldiers.

She stayed put, silently challenging him to come to her if he wanted her. Rhaegar did, his horse carried him over to her in a slow canter as the two Kingsguards stayed behind. Lyanna found enough strength to hold her grey gaze steady on him as the Prince approached. His own dark indigo eyes didn't seem strict or guilt-ridden like she would expect. They just seemed bottomless, serious as they met her own. _Maybe looking at him was a bad idea after all..._

Rhaegar came closer, so close that his black horse was standing beside hers and they were opposite of each other with barely a foot of air space between them. Lyanna swallowed the anxiety that threatened to consume her. „So, you're going to arrest me or what?“ She managed to ask in a low, steady voice.

Rhaegar's face seemed to hold a small sign of surprise at the question. He stammered for a second, as he studied her tense expression. „I....no.“ He finally answered, serious. When she didn't seem to relax any, Rhaegar's hand gently touched to hers as he watched her with a tenderness, trying to convince her he indeed wasn't out to hurt her. The touch made a small shiver trail up her spine.

Lyanna finally glanced back up at him, wide-eyed, a small, barely perceptible frown on her features as she tried to figure out if he meant it. She believed him, she wanted to. _What was he doing here, then?_

Then all of the sudden, she felt out of balance, quite literally as her horse let out a desperate neigh, propping itself on its back two legs. Only then Lyanna realized it was a sound of an arrow that came to her ear only a split second before, along with a faint shout that proclaimed someone for an idiot.

„Quick, come here.“ Rhaegar said firmly as he reached out for her. Lyanna immediately complied, swiftly moving to the side in her saddle, and he caught her slight form with ease. In the next moment, she was steady and secured on his horse, facing him.

 _Not this again, last time I lost my mind._ Lyanna thought with slight amusement even as it occurred to her they had bigger issues, with the fact someone was shooting arrows at them. Not even a second later, they were left in a protective shadow as what looked to be about a dozen of Rhaegar's men rode out before them, creating a shield.

With everything calmed within moments, Rhaegar directed his horse forward with Lyanna still almost in his lap, turned towards him so she could only listen to the situation around her. Rhaegar's arm was still wrapped around her, less out of need and more as a sign of protection. Ser Oswell stayed behind, dismounting as he moved to check on Lyanna's horse.

A tall, dark man in Targaryen colors hurriedly dismounted and bowed as he recognized the royal figure. Rhaegar however, could not say the same, even if he knew the majority of his father's men. It was surely intentional, the King feared someone would come to him with the information. It had only been wild luck that Ser Jaime had been in the Throne room with the King that day. Rhaegar shuddered to think what would have happened otherwise.

„My Prince, we deeply apologize for what happened. We didn't realize it was you.“

Loud and sharp, Rhaegar returned, clearly not pleased. „So you're saying, if it wasn't me it would have been fine to shoot arrows at an innocent woman? I assume your orders are from the King and that those orders had you bring in Lady Lyanna safely. You are relieved of those orders as of now, by my word. New circumstances have arisen since you were given that order.“

The other man frowned. „My Prince forgive me, but the King... I'm sure if she is innocent, the King will release the lady himself. I ask of you to let me do my duty, hand her over.“

Hearing that, Lyanna seemed to have clung somewhat closer to him. Rhaegar's hold on her tightened in return, letting her know he wasn't about to do anything of the sort.

„You were given a direct order, and now you're given another one.“ The Prince replied regally. „You can return to King's Landing or you can force me to kill my own men. And I'm sure the King will not be pleased to hear you shot an arrow at his heir.“

It seemed the soldier contemplated this for a few seconds, his dark brows in tension. Then, his posture deflated and he lowered in a bow as he softly murmured. „As you order, My Prince.“

Watching his own Targaryen banners retreat, Rhaegar let out a soft sigh of relief. His hand gently brushed over Lyanna's back, in a small reassurance that she was indeed safe. The she-wolf herself stayed motionless against his warmth for another moment or two, regaining her breath and wits as she considered what had just unraveled.

 


	17. About a Choice

The sun had long fallen behind the trees and the darkness descended upon them, and yet, Lyanna could not find sleep. The dead of silence surrounded her, and even more as the quiet crackling and light dancing of flames outside her tent ceased. Heavy, unsettling thoughts weighed on her brain as she shifted in her bed for the milionth time.

Finally giving up, Lyanna wrapped her arms around herself for some warmth as she drew her knees to her chest, burying her face so she peered out like a mouse from behind them. She was in an oversized grey tunic, Rhaegar lent it to her to sleep in. Lyanna was grateful, she didn't exactly have anything else to wear. It was unbelievably soft and it held his scent, which hadn't been a bad thing at all, she thought.

The feeling of being enveloped in it reminded her of how she clung to him for protection earlier today. His vicinity had offered her a strange comfort, despite the fact she should have been scared. It wasn't fear that numbed her spirit on that plain; she could still remember that feeling of a knife twisting in her gut as she thought it was Rhaegar who betrayed her.

In hindsight, she though herself stupid for thinking that, but the odd circumstances left little reason to doubt. What were the chances that two separate hordes of Targaryen men just happened to surround her on a plain in the Riverlands?

What was the Prince doing there anyway; he surely wasn't there for the wedding, it was too early. _And_ , he directly disobeyed a royal command, that was surely bad? 

Lyanna found herself wondering about her sad prince who had gone to such great lengths to make sure no harm would come to her. It was more than any other man would have done, surely. She knew what she longed for the reason to be, but her head scolded her heart mercilessly as soon as the thought came.

The reasonable explanation was that the prince was an honorable man; he promised to protect the Knight of the Laughing Tree and her identity. And he did; she could have been arrested by those men and marched before the King who, by the stories, was as likely to burn her alive as anything else.

Instead, the silver prince extended her his protection, and once the danger was surpassed and all the emotions leveled, Rhaegar had vowed he and his men would escort her back safely to Winterfell. The notion of returning North, to her home that she so loved, the Godswood, the plains covered in summer snows, it should have brought her comfort. Instead, Lyanna recalled her last plea to the Old Gods, how unlikely it was it would be fulfilled, and her heart sank.

What good it was that Rhaegar saved her, if she would just go back home, and her father would send her packing to Stormlands, for Robert to confine her in a castle and lay his claim on her. It would be prison, there was no doubt about it, only one of a different, even worse kind. Frustrated tears pricked at the corners of her eyes; she didn't want to go back home.

Lyanna almost wished those men arrested her; if she was lucky enough to survive, she would be proclaimed a traitor and insolent woman, a smudge on her family's honor. Maybe that would be a deterrent for Robert Baratheon.  She felt a twinge of guilt at her excitement over soiling her own family name, but if it meant she would be a recluse, spinster, a woman whose hand no one would ever ask for again, it would all be worth it.

And Rhaegar, how was she supposed to stop thinking about him if he would just randomly appear before her, kind and graceful and valiant in that frustrating, overwhelming way. He was married, he was a husband and a father. Gods, he was the crown prince.

And yet, Lyanna could only see the same boy who had helped her in the Godswood. And her heart trembled at what she could remember. Her knees had gone weak. And she could not find it in herself to sleep. She had not even thanked the prince properly. She'd accused him of going against his word, being less than honorable when he went against his father to prove her wrong.

Lyanna rose to her feet, and ran a hand through her dark hair. She had to see him, she had to tell him. To look into his amethyst eyes, to hope she would see a twinge of affection there. She didn't dare to hope for more.

Keeping the tunic on, she put on some breeches hurriedly, the same ones she had that day worn under her dress so that she could ride. Looking down at her attire for a second, Lyanna inadvertently smiled; it gave her great pleasure to feel so light, without her heavy skirts always stopping her in her tracks.

Briskly exiting her tent, Lyanna moved to the Prince's; she'd noticed which one it was after he had retreated for the night. Standing before it, suddenly it occurred to her that he might find her presence taxing, unseeming but she steeled herself. Rhaegar did not think that way. He did not care for mindless courtesy.

Slowly moving the fabric which closed off the entrance, she let herself in, eyes starting to adjust to the complete darkness that ruled inside. She listened for sounds: the only thing that registered were slow, even breaths from the dragon prince who seemed to be fast asleep. Struck with another wave of reluctance, Lyanna thought about turning back, leaving him to it but something did not let her.

Taking slow, gentle steps, she approached him silently, and crouched so that she could have a closer look of his face. The beautiful contours of his face were apparent even in the dark, his sharp cheekbones and his jaw. The sight gave Lyanna pause.

In a mindless moment, her small, pale hand hesitantly reached out, fingertips itching to brush away a silver lock that strayed over his closed eyes. Then, before Lyanna even had a chance to touch him, an abrupt movement had her out of breath and with a blade beneath her throat. A shuffle could be heard and a small glow of a candle appeared in the next moment.

With it, the Prince breathed a sigh of relief and let her go. Still feeling some adrenaline in his veins from the scare, he spoke more strongly than he intended. „Lyanna what are you doing here? You scared me, I could have killed you.“

Lyanna cleared her throat uncomfortably, feeling scolded, not sure what to say. This had been a mistake but there wasn't much going back now... 

„Uhm...I am sorry, I didn't mean to. I...wanted, needed to talk to you. I never said thank you.“ She said quietly and swallowed hard, feeling that familiar feeling of anxiety overcome her.

„You didn't need to. It is my duty, to protect those who are innocent from the wrath of my father.“ There was something melodic in his voice, as he spoke. Lyanna gave him a small sad smile, wondering for a second why couldn't she just stay in her own tents.

„Aye, but it's still a choice. And one that is not easy for you to make, is it not?“ She asked quietly, noticing a seeming change in his dark indigo eyes.

The Prince sighed with defeat as he considered it. „Nay it is not. Some choices are harder than others.“ Lyanna tried to read between those lines as best as she could. 

„But having a choice is always better than not having one though.“ She said thoughtfully, reflecting upon her own situation. What choice did she have?

Rhaegar's lips stretched into a small, somber smile at that. „I agree, my lady knight. Sometimes we just aren't given one. Sometimes we have to make options for ourselves.“

 _Lady knight._ Lyanna liked the sound of that, so much she struggled to suppress the sudden beaming smile that threatened to split her face. Then the thought; if everything would be the same anyway, if she would go back to Winterfell and he would go back to King's Landing and they would live lives that other people intended for them to live, then, what was there to lose?

Lyanna didn't know what it was, if it was what he said, or how he said it or the way those dark bottomless eyes of his looked at her. Or it was the touch of the wolf's blood that guided her senses; it didn't even matter as she snapped straight from her knees and pressed her lips against his own.  _Oh, so sweet and soft -_ she thought, breathless as his lips parted under hers, just enough for her to taste the faint remnants of wine.

Suddenly terrified she was doing it wrong and a million other things, Lyanna pulled back, breaking the kiss as she did. Shy and scared as she was, stormy grey eyes searched his face intently for any sign of reaction, anything. 

„Why did you do that?“ He asked her softly, his voice softer than she could ever remember him speak.

Oh gods he didn't want this. Didn't want her. Her cheeks flushed as her heart wildly pounded in her ears. Her crazy, foolish heart, what did she expect? Fawning over the beautiful prince who would not give her the time of day. The handsome prince who already had his life lined up for him, and what did she have? Not even her pride anymore.

Lyanna rose to her feet hurriedly and turned to run from the tent. She was running from him, running from the embarrassment, running from her own tears. Only Rhaegar rose right after her and stopped her in her tracks, his arms wrapping around her waist.

„Let me go.“ She cried. She just wanted to get to her bed, cry herself to sleep and pretend in the morning nothing had ever happened. She wouldn't have to pretend for long, she would just not look at him for the time it took for them to reach Winterfell. And everything would be the exact same way it had to be...Lyanna cursed herself for being a wistful fool.

„I shan't let you go.“ Rhaegar said with determination that surprised even him. He turned her around and she wouldn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the laces of his tunic instead.

„Look at me, Lyanna.“ He gently took her chin into his hand and lifted it so she would meet his gaze.

Before she did, Rhaegar could swear he had something to say. Looking at her now, however, he was lost for words so he leaned in and connected their lips again instead. Lyanna seemed to relax almost instantly, melting against him, her mouth parting slightly and her lips tasting so good against his. Her fingers twisted into the silver hair at the nape of his neck, making a smallest growl escape him. A low moan passed Lyanna's own lips in kind as Rhaegar slowly released her.

Struggling for breath, Rhaegar noted her eyes were still closed, like she didn't want the moment to end.

Grey eyes finally glancing up to his, Lyanna could see the conflict on his pretty features. She was half-right, he didn't want this. At least not completely. For he hadn't been as foolish as her, hadn't been quite as ready to throw caution to the wind. He was painfully aware of how it could never be. And maybe she had been foolish in thinking one kiss shall suffice her for an eternity cause now that it happened, Lyanna wasn't sure her heartbeat would ever return to its usual rate.

„Listen, I know you have a family to go back to. And that I have mine, and the man I am betrothed to.“ She started in a shaky tone, and Rhaegar seemed to be transfixed on her lips, watching for what she was to say. 

„I know you have nothing to give me, I don't want anything. I don't have anything to give you either, except for myself. But I don't want to live my life not knowing.“

„What do you want to know, Lyanna?“ Rhaegar asked her softly, his hand was still on the back of her neck. Gentle fingers threaded through the soft locks there.

„I want to know the feel of your lips against mine. Even if I sort of do know that now.“ She corrected herself, provoking the Prince to smile. „I want to know how your skin feels against mine, I want to know what it means to love. And gods be damned if I'm going to find that out in my marriage.“

Rhaegar gulped at her words. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about it. He was all too aware of how marriage did not mean love. How many times did his dreams have him chase a little she-wolf through the pale summer snows, longing for her only to wake up thousands of miles away? Other times, he would catch her and she'd turn around, beautiful, wearing her crown of winter roses, only to shatter before him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

What could he do? Did he dare do it? To save them both? He wished dragons weren't a thing of the past, for they could ride a dragon and go somewhere far, far away, for no one to ever hear of them. 

„Come here.“ He took her hand and slowly led her back to the bed. Trembling a bit in anticipation of what they were about to do, Lyanna took a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves. Rhaegar's expression was kind as he wordlessly motioned for her lie down. Scooting down into the soft pillows, in the next moment she felt a warmth course through her as his weight joined hers on the bed and his body curled around hers.

Lyanna could feel his breath on her neck softly tickling, his hands on her hips over her clothes. A sigh left her lips, expectant of feeling more of his touch, but his arm just slipped innocently around her waist. When it didn't seem he had intentions of doing more, Lyanna turned, his arm remaining draped around her as she did so. 

„Now what?“ She whispered, her lips so close to his. His mouth opened on instinct, feeling her so close, sharing her breath. Rhaegar gave her a short brush of his lips against hers. „Now we sleep.“

„Only sleep?“ The Prince nodded, giving her a small chuckle. The gravity of her words amused him.

His response was soft with a lilt of amusement, as his thumb gently caressed her brow. „The morrow is wiser than the night, my love. We shall sleep and in the morning we shall decide what to do.“

„Love.“ His she-wolf repeated faintly, her breath taken away. Rhaegar just nodded, dark indigo eyes looking her over with a seriousness as he lifted her hand up to his mouth. He placed a small, soft kiss on her pale knuckles.

Lyanna just watched him intently, with a small glimmer in her eyes. Then, one of his hands rose to stroke her hair, and Lyanna moved to lean against his chest. Her eyelids suddenly heavy; she drifted into calm, dreamless sleep for she was in a different dream entirely.

 


	18. In the Cold Light of Morning

Lyanna's eyes fluttered against the piercing sunlight and she shifted in the sheets with a soft hum, rolling over to the other side expecting to bump into a warm body there. Even in her half-unconscious state, she was surprised when her warmed cheek hit against a cool pillow instead.

Hand lazily reaching out, conducting a further search before her eyes fully opened, Lyanna realized she was indeed alone in the bed. For a second, it occurred to her that all of it was only dust in her mind, a wonderful dream that she would be forced to shake out of any second now. Oh, she didn't want it to end.

„Rhaegar?“ She asked in a soft, sleepy voice, blinking as she lifted her head slightly. Not getting a response, she squinted against the sunlight as she turned on her back, and looked about the tent. She was surprised to see him sitting in on a stool across from the bed, lean body in stiff posture as he brooded, deep enough in thought that he didn't seem to hear her.

Thinking to call out for him again, her jaw moved and then back, as the scene before her drew her attention instead.

Rhaegar's small silver harp was on the floor beside him, the reflection of the light against the silver strings blinded. Although his eyes with long eyelashes were cast down in thought, Lyanna could see a glimpse of the dark indigo bleeding out into a paler shade of purple under the sunlight. She wasn't sure if he was aware of her wakefulness for her did not say anything and he did not look at her. Then, before Lyanna could wonder any further-

„Will you marry me?“ Rhaegar's voice drifted over to her, steady. For a second, she was sure she imagined it because his body had been so still otherwise, like a silver statue lost in melancholy. 

Lyanna's mouth opened; stunned, she wasn't sure what to think. She wasn't sure how to feel, for the question must have been ridiculous. As much as she had wanted that was a possibility, it could not simply be. He was married. And she was promised to another man...What was he thinking?

Pushing herself upright in bed, her voice croaked with confusion. „I...I don't see how.“ 

„I've thought about it all night.“ Rhaegar rubbed his forehead, continuing in a low, tired voice. „It's the only way for us to be together. You shall be my queen and we shall be together. If your concern is Elia, she shouldn't be. We are not in love. She would only be my wife in name, I shall swear to you that.“

Lyanna blinked, still not quite following. „But...how? My father would never allow it, your father?“

Rhaegar wished all of it was easy. Gods, he wished they could just run away forever but it wasn't possible. They would just have to make the best out of what they had. „My father is an old, infirm man whose mind is not working properly. He is not called the Mad King for nothing.“ Sighing, with no small amount of shame he said that aloud, he turned his serious stare toward her. „Lyanna, If I'd been listening to him, you'd be in chains by now.“

Well that was true, she could not argue that. Could this really be?

„There is no other way.“ His voice firmly convinced. „If we do this, we do not return to Winterfell. We cease the ascent North and we go back South. To Dorne. No one will think to look for us there until the situation clears. We send a letter to your father that the King had sent men after you to bring you before him. We write to him that I intercepted that order, that you are safe with me and that I could not bring you home for I was afraid the king would send for you again.“

Swallowing hard in thought, Lyanna considered his words. Her adventure spirit prefered all that she heard from him just now over her life of doing cross-stitches by the window if she were to become Robert's wife.

 „Are you truly planning on stealing me away, Rhaegar Targaryen?“ A wolfish smile sprung to her lips as she spoke, coy.

Rhaegar suppressed a small grin at her reaction, then he replied, in all seriousness as he glanced at her. „Yes. But only if you wish to be stolen. It is your decision Lyanna. If you wish so, I'll accompany you back to Winterfell and your life will go on how it was supposed to. However, if you wish to go with me, then you will have my protection and more. I will swear myself to you and I shall swear to you that you will always have my love and your freedom.“

Lyanna's heart jumped at those words. All she could imagine is being able to call him hers. Being able to touch him. To fall asleep and wake up in his arms, not just on this fateful day, but for the rest of her days. Aye, it was dangerous. It was crazy. But Lyanna loved it.

„I shall be your wife then.“ was all she said breathlessly. It took her by more than a little surprise when a so far calm and collected Rhaegar shot up at the speed of an arrow and lifted her in his arms, twirling her around in the tent. Her feet were back on the floor in a few seconds and they just grinned at each other. Rhaegar's nose brushed against hers before he moved to kiss her mouth but then-

„My prince.“ They both pulled away with a sigh as they heard a distant shout, alongside with steps that sounded like they were from someone speedily approaching the tents. „Prince Rhaegar...Lady Lyanna is not...“ Arthur said with a hint of panic in his voice as he drew the curtains open. His jaw dropped at the sight of Lyanna inside the Prince's tent, and standing so close to him even yet.

The knight collected himself soon enough and gave the two of them a small bow. „My apologies my lady, my prince. We weren't aware Lady Lyanna was with you.“

„That is quite alright Arthur.“ Grinned Rhaegar as he walked forward to tap his friend's shoulder. „Let us go now, we should probably find something to eat. Come Lyanna.“ He said, his voice gentle, as he extended his hand toward her and she gladly took it.

* * *

 

Ser Arthur was sitting by the campfire, purple eyes observing as Rhaegar meticulously skinned a wild rabbit they have caught just a while before. Lady Lyanna had been more than excited to go hunting for food with them, and she had proven herself to be of capability. Later, she'd asked to accompany Ser Oswell in a quest for fresh water and the knight gladly accepted the offered help.

Ser Arthur wondered about the northern maid, she was certainly not a conventional highborn lady. Breaking lances and wielding swords, it seemed she had a strange effect on his prince. To Arthur it seemed like playing with fire or rather ice, but he wasn't one to question the prince's choices. Although he very much wanted to know what was going inside his friend's mind.

„So, we ride to Winterfell after the sun falls?“ The knight asked casually, throwing back a gulp of wine.

Rhaegar stopped his fluid movements for a second, looking ahead of himself. He spoke, matter of fact. „Nay. When the sun falls, we turn around. We ride to your homeland.“

A small frown could be noted to have appeared on the knight's forehead. „To Dorne? What about Lady Lyanna? Are we not returning her to her home?“

Rhaegar looked around and picked up a dagger that was next to him. He slowly disengaged the strips of muscle and fat from the bones. With a sigh, he explained. „No. She's going with me. Aye, I know before you say it, I am a fool. But I am not. I cannot bear it Arthur. She does not wish to go home. And I do not want her to go.“

Se Arthur nodded in acknowledgement of his prince's words, he just as well expected something of the sort. From the moment Rhaegar found out his lady was in danger, he was a lost cause again. He instantly ordered for horses to be prepared, and a couple of faithful men to get ready to ride with them. He also directly lied to the king, saying he was going for Dorne to solve a minor administrative problem. The knight only wondered if the prince needed to be saved from himself.

„You know I have never judged you my prince, for that is not my place. But think about this. This might very well cause a scandal. What shall her family say? What shall the king say? Gods know you do not need provoke any more of his wrath. Your very existence has been proven irritating to him, how will he react when he realizes you didn't only prevent his orders from being carried out, but that you kidnapped a noble woman?“

„I am not kidnapping her.“ Answered Rhaegar, with an edge of irritation in his voice.“ She wants to come with me, that's not kidnapping.“ Then he sighed, his friend's words haven't completely gone over his head. Rhaegar knew how this would look to an outsider.

„I shall deal with his wrath when it comes upon me. He won't dare do anything to his heir, and she will be safe and far away from him for as long as he is a threat to her.“

Ser Arthur further inquired. „And the Starks, how shall they react? What of Robert Baratheon?“

Rhaegar sighed as he probed the meat with a stick and held it just above the flames. „We shall write to her father. It will be enough to calm the situation for now. Robert Baratheon will just have to endure.“

"And what of Princess Elia?" Arthur murmured insecurely. 

Leaning his forehead against his other hand, Rhaegar sighed. "For as long as I live, neither Elia nor our children will miss a thing. You know as well as I do that no love will be lost there. The realm will just have to do with two queens." 

The other knight gulped in surprise. „Two queens? You intend to marry her?“ Asked Arthur with a hint of indignation in his voice. He thought if there was ever a time to speak freely around his friend, this was it. „Gods be good, my Prince. You truly are in love. I do not dare ask of the rest of this plan, though it should be noted I follow your path and trust your judgement, as I always have.“

Rhaegar smiled; his eyes glistened with a mischief that Arthur had only seen on a couple of separate occasions. „I shall hope my judgement is to be trusted. And I do love her, my friend. Very much so.“

Arthur just silently raised his wine skin in a gesture of recognition. He prayed for it all to not be a complete disaster. Then, the knight carefully nodded toward the prince's tents, his voice wary as he observed Rhaegar with a caution. „You didn't though yet...did you?“

Rhaegar looked at his friend, very well discerning the intended meaning. „Gods Arthur, of course not. We shall be married soon enough, I do not wish to disgrace her anymore than I already have.“ Then, he puffed up his cheeks and exhaled, in a fairly uncharacteristic manner for himself. „You know, it pains me to put her at odds with her family. I just have hopes it will smooth over once this situation is solved.“

„Cheers to that.“ Came his friend's throaty reply as he chugged back some more of the red liquid.

 


	19. About a Letter

Lyanna looked upon the blank peace of paper before her; she dipped the quill into the inkpot but then her hand paused over the white surface. What was she going to write to her father, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North who thought her safe and sound along her eldest brother's side? Maybe she should lead with that, that she was indeed well. Although she had her doubts about how much her father would still care about her well-being once this matter was entirely resolved.

_Dearest Lord Father,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, as well as Benjen. Hopefully, the news of this did not reach you a moment before this letter, if for nothing else for your health._

Very much wanting not to, Lyanna felt a silent guilt gnawing at her at the thought she was indeed choosing not to come back home. Everyone had a duty to do in life, one thing or another. It had been unfortunate that as a lady, Lyanna was fated to dread her own. The ability to bear children sounded more like a curse to her than anything else. It was why she knew she would eventually be forced to leave her home, and become a vessel for heirs of whichever noble man it was her father chose.

It had to have been a common thing, surely. Lords arranging marriages for their daughters without their input on the matter. Commonly, a betrothal would be forged and in a few moons' turns, a wedding would occur. A proud father would hug and dance with his beloved daughter at the wedding feast, only to turn a blind eye when her wedded husband would  take to her bed whether she allowed him to or not for that was his right. Lyanna did not believe in such rights; it just seemed unimaginably cruel to think like that.

Even then, some ladies seemed to be more fortunate than others in this matter, in the sense they didn't seem to dread what had been forced upon them. Lyanna only wondered why she couldn't look at Robert the way Catelyn Tully looked upon Brandon, with shining maiden eyes and breathless thrill, glancing away shyly when caught in a stare. 

Surely, Lord Tully hadn't given her a choice in her betrothal any more than Lyanna's father had given her, but the fair auburn-haired lady still seemed content. Catelyn had confided in her that she very much looked forward to governing her own household and raising any children she may have.

Lyanna herself just couldn't see the appeal, no matter how hard she tried. Whenever she thought about it, she couldn't get passed the horrifying image of Robert Baratheon stumbling upon her bed drunk on their wedding night, his sloppy lips over hers as he forced her legs apart. Lyanna hated the idea of his hands restraining her, his gruff body carelessly pressing upon her, marring her thighs with his seed as she bled. Would her own father truly allow for him to harm her so?

She recalled her father's kind face, how he always had a gentle word for her, how he did his best to extend his care for all his children in lack of a mother's love. He did truly care for her, didn't he? Even if he intended for her to marry Robert, it couldn't have been out of malice, only ignorance of Robert's true character.

And how was she repaying him? By running away, going against his will, worrying him. But how could she find it in herself to return after everything; leave her heart and soul behind?

Oh, she loved him so, her silver prince. It occurred to her she never truly thought it before, not in those words. It still seemed unreal he professed his love for her, looking at her with those beautiful sad indigo eyes of his, silently pleading with her to stay.

She thought back to how tender and elegant his hands were as he held her so carefully like she were his silver harp, kissed her with great care and love. Lyanna, she couldn't imagine parting from him again. She didn't think herself capable of it.

Nay, maybe she was drawing the gods' damnation upon herself, hurting her own kin but she just didn't dare imagine otherwise. Lyanna would ask for forgiveness, but she wouldn't regret her actions. If they knew, surely her family would understand why she acted the way she did? _Oh Gods, please make them understand._

Steeling herself, Lyanna leaned the inked tip of her quill against the paper and continued her scribbles.

_As you can see from Prince Rhaegar's letter in which you found this one, I was in peril but it was one he rescued me from. I am grateful to him for his help and his honor in this matter. Unfortunately, it is not yet safe for me to come back home, but I eagerly await the day when I'll see you and my brothers again.The prince has kindly offered me his protection until this misunderstanding is resolved.I only ask for you not to worry until this matter is over._

_Your only daughter, Lyanna Stark_

Putting down her quill, Lyanna noted the slight ink trail marks she left behind on the paper as she wrote. At least her father would know beyond doubt it was her who wrote the letter; it hadn't been once he scolded her for her messy writing habits. Her and Brandon both, they just weren't made for handling finer things, it seemed.

Oh, Brandon, he must have already gone crazy with worry. Lyanna had no doubt that he stayed out on the plains of Riverrun for as long as one could see through the descending dark, desperately searching for her. Lyanna knew he did, because she would have done the same had he gone missing. Her heart ached at the worry she was causing him, Ned and Benjen as well. Her brothers would forgive her, surely they would? They would understand, that she couldn't stand her cage anymore. Lyanna didn't know how she would bear it if they didn't.

A sudden movement of a shadow snapped her out of her melancholy as an additional weight slowly settled on the bed beside her. Gentle fingers threaded in a passing caress against her soft dark curls. „I'm sorry if I scared you.“ Rhaegar murmured softly as he took a seat beside her, noting she was startled.

Lyanna sighed softly, then she answered in her quiet husky voice. „You didn't. I was just thinking.“ Hands fidgeting in her lap, she stared at the folded letter before her.

Seeing her reaction, Rhaegar lowered his head slightly, dark indigo eyes intent on studying her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes with thick eyelashes were cast away from him. Still, it had been apparent to him that she was upset.

 „Lya?“ The Prince prompted gently, hoping whatever it was, he could ease her anguish. „Are you well?“ He whispered, with great concern as her glinting grey eyes glanced up at his, a smallest trail of sadness present in them.

„I'm fine.“ Lyanna murmured, lifting her head in a soft brush of her lips against his. It had been an instinct, a longing for comfort. It still stunned how his presence could soothe her nerves, put her heart at ease. 

Leaning her forehead against his, Lyanna let out a small, soft sigh. „I'm just thinking of Brandon. He must be worried sick, looking for me.“

Rhaegar's dark eyes watched her with gentle compassion as he moved a stray hair from her face. „I'm sorry, my love. We just can't risk sending a letter to Riverrun, we're still too close. Hopefully, he'll find out from Lord Rickard soon. “

 „I know. I just hope so too.“ Lyanna whispered against the corner of his mouth. Her hand rose to his jaw, gentle fingertips trailing over his bottom lip as she gave him a faint smile.

Looking down at her gentle, pale features, realizing just how open for hurt she would be if anything were to go wrong, Rhaegar felt himself overcome with a sudden wave of guilt. An ugly doubt gnawed at him, had he been selfish for doing this? Separating her from her family, putting her at a risk? _She came to me,_ he reminded himself. It didn't do much to ease his woes.

Feeling his body tense, Lyanna immediately glanced up with apprehension, wondering what could it possibly be as she saw the troubling expression his face bore. „What's wrong?“ She asked wide-eyed as she looked upon him, already fearing the answer.

Rhaegar sighed, uncertain what to tell her, _how_ to tell her of this worry of his. „I'm sorry my love, I just... I fear, that you will regret this later. You already miss your family so much and Gods only know how this is going to unravel... “

„Shh, don't say that.“ Lyanna put her fingers back over his soft lips. Looking up at him, grey eyes serious, she reassured firmly. „I shan't regret this. I do miss my family dearly, but it is a price that one must pay.“ She exhaled, then continued in a soft, breathy tone of voice as her eyes cast to the side with a somber thought. „I'd rather miss them for a couple of months, than miss you for a lifetime.“

Rhaegar drew in closer to her, studying her solemn face. Oh, he was already persuaded, how could he not be? His hand went to cup her soft cheek. „Alright, my love.“ He whispered sincerely as he nuzzled closer to her. His gaze drifted down as he spied her biting her lip; the prince wondered if she was aware just how much seduction lay in the movement.

Not a moment later, his mouth softly pressed to hers and Lyanna felt a warmth course through her at the sensation; a slow fire kindled at the bottom of her belly. Opening her mouth slowly, a bit shy, Lyanna gently ran the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip. A small breathy sigh tore from Rhaegar, much to her pleasure as she slowly pulled back.

Rhaegar lifted her hand and pressed another soft kiss there, very much trying not to show his amusement by how fast of a learner she was.

Then, something odd caught his eye and the prince frowned, slowly turning her palm in his hand. Gently inspecting her small pale hand, he saw black ink smudged on the ridge of it. „So, you _are_ left-handed.“ He breathed with wonder.

 „Aye, I am. To the misfortune of any future letter I write.“ Lyanna quipped. Then her grey eyes shot up to his and she gave him a small, confused frown. „How did you know already?“

Rhaegar smiled as he recalled a mostly pleasant memory. „The first time we met in the Godswood. You stabbed me with your left hand.“

Lyanna's mouth fell open with surprise as she thought back to the long forgotten memory. „Oh Gods Rhaegar, you're right. I entirely forgot about that with everything that later happened...“ Then, she looked to him with a small regretful frown on her features as she apologized in a softer voice. „I'm sorry I stabbed you, my love.“

Rhaegar responded with a soft chuckle, kissing her cheek. „I do not hold a grudge.“ Then, the prince continued in a low voice, with a small glint in his dark indigo eyes as they met hers. „You know, that's a decent combat advantage. Most men you fight are right handed so you can get used to it, but they won't be accustomed to being attacked from the other side. I can show you how to do that with a sword, or even Ser Arthur can. You won't find a better man than him to teach you the skill.“

Lyanna felt a sudden excitement blooming within her; she never wielded anything other than a wooden sword, and even then in the secluded woods of Winterfell with Benjen. Her voice breathless with elation, she asked with a small rise of her brows. „You would truly do that?“

Rhaegar's fingers trailed a softest of patterns on her cheek. „Of course I would, my lady knight. I know it's close to your heart, and you just happened to get yourself surrounded by the best knights in the realm. And...“ Rhaegar drew closer to her like he wanted to tell her a secret. Lyanna's eyes glazed over as she looked at him.

„And what?“ She prompted in a whisper, edging even closer to him. „And, I love you.“ Rhaegar concluded in a whisper, just a breath away from her. Lyanna couldn't help the wolfish grin that sprung on her lips before she kissed him, with all the love and passion she felt in her heart.

 


	20. About a Danger

Dismounting quickly, tired legs landing into the soft ground beneath him, Brandon carelessly tossed the reins of his horse to the waiting stableboy. Moving his long legs at a brisk pace despite the dull ache he felt spreading through his bones, he harshly kicked the rock that found its unfortunate place before the tip of his black leather boot. It gave little to no relief to the excruciating anxiety and frustration that felt more and more like his natural state for every second Lyanna was missing.

The wild wolf had already gone through all the worse scenarios in his head countless times, from the one that his little sister had fallen of her horse and was lying dead in some ditch with her neck snapped, to that she was kidnapped and raped by who knew what bandits roamed the area.

His lord father had been right, Brandon bitterly thought, grimacing, he was good for nothing. He couldn't even keep an eye on his litle sister this one time he was intrusted with her safety by their father.

If only she hadn't gone out alone on unknown plains, straddling that damned horse of hers. Brandon knew his sister her whole life, and right now he knew himself to be a complete fool for not anticipating she might do something exactly like this. By the Gods, he would find her and bring her back, pull her by her hair all the way home to Winterfell if this was her own doing. He just prayed she was still alive.     

„Lord Stark.“ A deep call came from behind him and Brandon frantically turned. The figure who approached him was one of Lord Hoster Tully's men who have been commissioned to help thoroughly search the area.

„What?“ Brandon breathed harshly, not in a state to exchange pleasantries right now. He had hoped with half a heart that they found her, if only to end the burning suspense of not having any knowledge at all. The other half feared that she was horribly hurt or even dead.

„There's a common boy who we thought you should talk to. He says he saw something.“

Brandon just nodded, teeth clenching as he moved his feet with exasperation. He had all this burning, violent energy burning within him, consuming his insides. Seeing the boy, who seemed to be about nine, Brandon didn't have much patience for his seeming shyness that he was brought to speak before a foreign lord.

„Go on, boy. Tell Lord Stark what you saw.“ The other man intoned. The lanky dark-haired boy, dressed in ragged and somewhat filthy clothes, looked down to the ground as he spoke in a thin, childlike voice. „M'lord, I saw men. A lot of men, on horses. They weren't our men, their banners were odd. Black with red, I saw in distance.“

Blinking slowly, attempting to collect his thoughts, Brandon's attention lingered on only three words. _Black with red._ The wild wolf had never experienced the rush of a sudden realization so bright in his head, so clear that he wasn't sure how he didn't see it before. The tourney of Harrenhal, that bloody crown. _That Targaryen bastard._

Brandon suddenly felt a burning rage permeating his insides, rage that finally found itself a target. _That royal prick._ He kidnapped his sister, stole her from her family. Even if Brandon already had serious doubts about how much she even resisted.

He had seen it all at Harrenhal; his foolish sister was taken with the damned bastard and his romantic gestures. Whores weren't good enough for Rhaegar, it seemed. Brandon wondered if his sword was good enough for him. Bristling with red rage, Brandon yelled for his men as his fist clenched, already itching for a weapon.

* * *

 

Hearing what seemed like sounds of someone's approach, Ser Arthur's head snapped up from his task of polishing Dawn. „My prince.“ The knight intoned, seeing the man who was the source of the disturbance. Rhaegar gracefully breached the small distance from the knight's tent to his current resting spot under a large, wide tree.

„Arthur.“ Rhaegar returned the greeting brightly as his hand squeezed the other man's shoulder.

Taking a seat on the ground next to the knight and drawing his knees to his chest, the prince softly inquired after a moment. „Have you fared well with our latest task?“

The other knight nodded in response, his expression serious. „I have assigned a couple of our best and most entrusted men to ride to Winterfell and deliver the letter to only Lord Rickard's hands, as you commanded. It will likely take them a fortnight, ten days if they have good traveling conditions.“

„Hopefully not too long.“ Rhaegar voiced with a sigh, shifting his posture just enough for his arm to lay relaxed over a knee. He had known that using carriers would delay the message, but he just couldn't risk the letter getting lost alongside a raven, or even worse, falling into the wrong hands.

Seeing his friend's worried expression, Arthur continued carefully. „My prince, I don't mean to fuel your anxiety over this matter, but are you certain that Lord Rickard will react positively to the news? Even more if the news from Riverrun reach him first. What if he doesn't believe that you are indeed working in protection of Lady Lyanna, he might not trust that all of this isn't under the King's command.“

Rhaegar absently ran a hand through his long, silver hair as he spoke quietly. „Aye, that is a possibility. And one I would rather not think about. I have hopes that the rumors of me working to overthrow my father would serve me at least in this particular instance.“

Exhaling softly as he thought just how perilous this entire matter was, Rhaegar decided to not dwell upon such risks until it was completely necessary. Desiring a change of subject, he asked in a brighter tone of voice. „What of the other matter we discussed? I shall hope it wasn't terribly demanding.“

„My prince, you would be surprised.“ Then, turning his violet gaze toward the prince, the knight continued seriously. „However, do not fret, I would never have you unprepared for...“

Arthur suddenly cleared his throat as he ceased speaking; his back straightened, quite in contrast to his previously relaxed posture. Rhaegar immediately glanced up in the suggested direction, gaining an understanding of why the knight had abruptly fallen silent.

Lyanna stood a few feet away from them in her dark dress, biting her lip before she slowly moved forward. She had been searching for Rhaegar, however seeing he was in Ser Arthur's company, she felt rather reluctant about approaching.

His dark indigo eyes falling on the image of her, Rhaegar's face instantly lit up. The prince elegantly stood to his feet, covering the last few steps.

When she finally stood before him, a few inches shorter, beautiful grey eyes glancing up, Rhaegar reached to press a soft kiss to her forehead as his arms gently embraced her. Hardly able to resist, he buried his face in her soft dark curls, bringing back that lovely scent of winter that haunted him in his dreams. Lyanna just relaxed against him, warming over despite the cool night's breeze that washed over them.

Seeing the scene, the other knight rose swiftly from the ground. With a half-amused thought of being the odd one out, Arthur softly murmured an excuse to the couple and made his way back to the tents, thinking to search for Oswell instead.

Lifting her head from Rhaegar's chest, Lyanna glanced up at him with a guilty thought and a bite of her lip. „I think I might have chased Ser Arthur away with my presence, I certainly didn't intend to do so.“

„Don't worry about it, we were done talking.“ Rhaegar smoothed her concern away, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. „You're welcome whenever you seek me out, my lady knight. I shall only hope to always have you near.“

„And if it depends on me, you shall.“ She returned in her husky voice, looking upon him with a glint in her eyes as she gave him a small smile. „How long until the letter makes its way to Winterfell?“ She whispered then, placing a small kiss alongside his jaw.

„A fortnight at the most.“ Rhaegar answered, sighing. „Maybe less.“

„You didn't send it by a raven?“ Asked Lyanna, looking up at him wide-eyed.

Smoothing back a lock from her face, Rhaegar answered in a low, serious voice. „Nay, my love. It's too dangerous. If wrong people were to get a hold of that letter, I could easily turn from an heir to a traitor.“

Upon hearing that, Lyanna instantly sulked, looking down to the ground. _Don't say things like that._ she wanted to tell him. But she was just as aware as him of how dangerous all of this was. Oh, she couldn't bear it if he got hurt. The king could do whatever he wanted to her, Lyanna didn't fear for herself. However, the idea that he might hurt Rhaegar had been a new one, and a frightening one.

Seeing her reaction, Rhaegar pulled her slight form back into his arms. Lyanna felt a hand sinking into her hair, soothing her with a gentleness as his whispers rang softly in her ear. „I'm sorry, my love. Nothing bad will happen, I promise. We just need to be careful, is all.“

„You promise?“ She asked with a barely noticeable sniffle, misted eyes glancing back up at him. Lyanna knew he couldn't truly promise something like that, but she wanted to hear it from him regardless.

„I promise.“ Rhaegar whispered seriously as he gently caressed her cheek, indigo eyes lovingly looking upon hers.

Satisfied with such an answer, Lyanna rose to her toes with a small grin, securing her arms around his neck. Rhaegar found himself smiling at the gesture, his own arms tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer.

„Alright then, my love.“ She whispered sweetly as she kept herself close to him. Looking at him with a longing, Lyanna's eyes trailed slowly from his own gaze down to his lips.

Not able to resist the invitation, Rhaegar pressed another soft kiss against her mouth, this time it was more than a mere brush as he gently pried her mouth open with his tongue. Lyanna sighed against his mouth, feeling the bolt of pleasure that rushed through her, still holding herself so close, relishing the warmth that her body so missed.

As she pulled back with another soft sigh, Rhaegar's hand trailed over the goosebumps that appeared on her naked forearm.

„You're cold, my love.“

* * *

 

The darkness of the night had completely enveloped their surroundings and Rhaegar once again rekindled the flames that kept him and his love warm. Lyanna was sleeping curled next to him, her head in his lap while the heavy furs of his cloak kept her warm. She had drifted into peaceful slumber as Rhaegar stroked her dark hair and told her in a whisper about riding to the Isle of Faces.

Lyanna had heard earlier of it, but she wondered what the purpose of such endeavour might be. Before she could press him for more information, she found that the comfort of his touch and the softness in his voice lulled her and she let herself drift away, happy and content.

Rhaegar however had stayed awake, his head drifting off into the land of plans and possibilities. He already had set a couple of plans in motion, one of which was particularly dear to his heart and would come to a lucky resolution soon, he hoped.

Whatever risks and unpleasantries the path he was willing to take would entail, just thinking about anything else made it seem unbearable. He remembered his conversation with Lyanna about choices and realized he indeed didn't have any. His heart had already made all the choices for him.

It seemed impossible for it to go any other way.

 


	21. In a Godswood

„Why are we here?“ Lyanna wondered breathlessly as she rode next to Rhaegar, their beasts trotting appropriately one beside the other.

Her gaze spread out over the sight of the dark greenness of this godswood, one that reminded her of the godswood of Winterfell more than the one she used for her hiding at Harrenhal. A strange peace overwhelmed her, a familiar and comforting feeling. The godswood and the heart tree in particular had been her sanctuary even at home.

That thought suddenly bittered as she recalled the last time she was in the godswood of Winterfell, how she spilled tears into the faithful roots, begging the heart tree not to let her father marry her off to a man she did not love. It seemed the gods have granted her that favor.

Lyanna might have been a thousand miles away from home, but her gods would follow her wherever she would go. It seemed a small price to pay for holding a piece of her heart close beside her.

Rhaegar seemed to have read her thoughts, or at least sensed the melancholy.

„You miss your home.“ He stated rather than asked. Lyanna swallowed silently before she gave an answer. „Yes. Not enough to not want to be here.“ She returned serious, finding in his eyes a silent understanding.

They made their way further in the godswood and just as Lyanna thought to repeat her question, Rhaegar pulled his horse by its rains to a halt and dismounted quietly, his feet landing softly in the glistening grass below them. Lyanna followed suit, securing the rains of her own animal to a nearby tree. Her form glided over to him in the next moment, grey eyes traced over his face as he stood before her.

Looking upon her lovingly, Rhaegar smoothed a piece of her hair behind an ear. „Lyanna Stark do you remember what I asked you, that morning in my tents?“

Her heart thumped oddly as she got an idea of what he meant, but she decided to play for it instead. She neared him, her eyes falling upon his soft lips as her fingers gently traced them over. „You asked me a lot of things. I'd rather it come from your lips.“

Rhaegar should have known it wasn't going to be that easy with her. A soft smirk curled on his face against his will.

„You want me to say it again?“ The prince asked softly, indigo eyes trailing down her features till they fell upon her parted red lips. Lyanna only drew even closer to him. Their mouths open, they were only a breath away from each other. It all worked out well, they left the knights at a distance enough for them to afford each other affection free of withhold.

„Mhm.“ She moaned as a soft kiss of his mouth against her lower lip stole her breath.

„Will you be mine, if I swear to be yours?“ Rhaegar whispered softly against her lips, then his glinting eyes that shone like amethyst in the darkness rose to meet hers. He could see affection there, and more. Excitement, passion, lust.

She grinned in the next instant, beautiful, unable to contain her elation further. But her voice was serious. „Only for as long as you'll have me.“

A rare grin broke on his face as well and Lyanna rose to her toes, softly pressing her mouth into his as her hand intertwined in his silver tresses. Rhaegar pulled away after a few moments, almost scared by the rush she seemed to cause in him. She sighed at the abruption and her breath warmed his face; if he didn't know her better, he would think she was slighted.

„We have our whole lives for that. We should say our vows first, don't you think?“ Rhaegar suggested with a glint of amusement, finding her impatience endearing. His fingertips traced featherlight touches on her cheek.

„If that's your condition for the rest, aye.“ Lyanna breathed huskily, shining eyes meeting his. Rhaegar gave her another short kiss and a smile before he waved Ser Arthur over.

The knight seemed to be equipped with a couple items, mainly a dark velvet cloak decorated with glittering red rubies that formed the Targaryen sigil on the black backdrop, as well as a small golden circlet that seemed made up of fragile, thin, gilded leaves. Lyanna's jaw dropped,  this had been planned at least a little bit ahead. Ser Arthur gave her a small knowing smile seeing her expression, one that said she might have underrated the Prince's efforts when it came to such a thing.

 „I know you wish your family were here to see you get married.“ Rhaegar whispered to her softly, snapping her attention back to him. „But I'm afraid it's only you, me and the Kingsguard for tonight. I promise you a real wedding and a real crown, when we finally come to the capital.“

Lyanna gulped at the mention of her family, she did feel a slight twinge of regret in her chest at the thought. Then she remembered that if it were up to them, she would have a different man standing before her, awaiting her vows. A different man bedding her after. Lyanna loved her father, but she wasn't sure she would ever forgive him that intention.

„This is real to me. I only need you.“ She assured, her wide grey eyes, despite of it all, sad.

Rhaegar simply nodded, he knew there wasn't much he could do about it besides take her mind off it. With a comforting smile, he offered her his hand and she gave him her own. They turned and walked the few steps up to the heart tree where Ser Arthur was already standing to the side, bearing witness to the ritual.

The weddings before the Old Gods did not require a High Septon or a different kind of religious figure; someone handing off the bride was preferable but the only essential was the couple to be wed and a weirwood tree.

Standing before the crimson branches of the heart tree, the two of them looked upon each other. Lyanna felt her heart beat wildly in her chest in excitement, she took a deep breath. Rhaegar just watched her in silence, taking in the way the shine of the moon danced in her dark hair and how her eyes twinkled in the night.

Not releasing her hand, Rhaegar slowly started. „Before the Old Gods, I take you, Lyanna Stark to be my wedded wife.“

As she looked upon his beautiful face, Lyanna's voice mirrored his vow. „Before the Old Gods, I take you, Rhaegar Targaryen to be my wedded husband.“

Arthur's steady voice drifted over to them. „You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.“

Lyanna turned and untied the laces of her own grey fur-trimmed cloak, and Rhaegar's hands slid it off. Then another, softer of black velvet cloak warmed her shoulders. His warm touch lingered on Lyanna's neck as she took over the clasp into her hands, securing it around her neck. The red three headed dragon on the dark background shimmered on her back.

When she turned around, Rhaegar had already held the golden circlet in his hands and she knelt before him, careful with her cloak. He slowly pressed the gilded circlet into her dark hair and gently lifted her chin for her to rise. When she did, he spoke clearly and calmly, his dark indigo gaze burning into hers. „I crown you the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.“

Ser Arthur, having his task finished, simply bowed to the new royal couple and with Rhaegar's nod took his leave, disappearing into the darkness of the godswood.

„What now?“ Lyanna grinned as she threw her arms around his shoulders. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

„Whatever you want.“ Rhaegar whispered, placing kisses on her cheek and then her jaw. Lyanna lifted her head, her lips seeking out his fervently as he held her. This time she broke the kiss as she was out of breath.

„Can we...can we stay here?“ She asked, directing her wolf-pup eyes at him.

Rhaegar grinned as his brows rose, falling prey to her charm. „You don't think the Old Gods would mind that?“

„My Gods are less prudish than yours.“ Lyanna returned with cheek; she bit her lip in a move that Rhaegar could again only swear was pure seduction. Her husky voice reassured as she looked upon him. „This ground is blessed but not in a way love can taint it.“

Another press of his lips to hers, seemed to be the promise of acceptance. Lyanna opened her mouth, touching the tip of her tongue to his gently. It was a game he taught her and she loved playing it. It was one of the rare ones in which she found subtlety has worth. A familiar burn settled in the bottom of her belly, sending tingles through her.

Lyanna gasped as the kiss broke and Rhaegar's hands carefully fumbled with the clasp of her cloak again, this time to be rid of it. A river of black velvet hit the ground as his lips found her neck, and his hand trailed over to the laces on the back of her dress. Lyanna, not to be the one left behind, let her fingers fiddle with the buttons of his own clothing. Ridding him of the first layer, she pulled on the laces of the dark tunic he wore under. His arms rose for her to pull it up.

Milky cream skin covering a lean warrior body shone to her in the moonlight and her breath got stuck in her throat. She was still dumbstruck by this man's beauty, it seemed funny pondering that he was _hers_. She almost giggled at the thought but she composed herself. Not well enough for it not to be noted though.

„Why are you laughing?“ Was a soft teasing question and instead of answering, Lyanna playfully bit down on his lip, not enough to draw blood but just enough for him to feel she could.

„It's none of your concern.“ She whispered with no bite and in return got a soft hum from the back of his throat. With no words, Rhaegar returned to his task, lips and tongue sending tingles down her spine as he made his way over to her earlobe and gently bit there. Then, his hands found their way to her shoulders and he pushed down onto the edges of her dress, the fabric pooling effortlessly around her feet, leaving her bare to him.

Not to make her self-conscious, Rhaegar chose to concentrate on touch rather than sight but she pulled from him with a gasp. A bit shy, but determined to overcome it, Lyanna took his hand and placed it above her heart. Dark grey eyes looking at him, it had been a wordless invitation on her part and Rhaegar would never think himself strong enough to say no to her.

Letting his gaze slowly drift down over her beautiful bare breasts and toned stomach, the prince thought it had only been a second time his heart fluttered at the sight. Looking at her, noting her cheeks were flushed, he gently moved a hand over the swell of one breast and across her ribs. A small gasp tore from Lyanna as the contact was lost.

Then, to her surprise, Rhaegar crouched down, kneeling before her. Her eyes closed and she concentrated on the feeling of his soft lips first on her belly, then up her legs. As he made it passed her knees and up, her hand found his hair and pulled on his tresses on instinct.

Soon, Rhaegar's deft fingers slowly tugged at her smallclothes and the undergarment joined her dress on the ground. Lyanna could feel herself shiver with anticipation as he placed soft kisses up her thighs. He seemed to have mistook it for a sign of reluctance rather than pleasure though, for suddenly he rose back up, into her arms.

„Are you frightened?“ He asked softly and Lyanna's first instinct was to moan in disappointment he stopped but she didn't think that made for a very coherent answer.  

„Not frightened.“ She answered breathlessly. What she was had been of a different nature, and she hadn't the words to describe it.

His soft lips on hers again, Lyanna sensed that he tried to make them move down so she complied. In a second they were a tangle of limbs, their bodies coupled in the grass. Softly kissing and touching, they slowly explored each others bodies; soft breathy sounds tore from Lyanna as his hand settled between her thighs. Dark eyes trained on her face, studying for a reaction, Rhaegar allowed his fingers to start gentle strokes against her sex, feeling her getting warmer and wetter as seconds ticked on.

Feeling him, her own hand conducting its search, Lyanna tugged at the laces of his breeches. In the next second, however, Rhaegar's hand twined in hers and pinned it above her head, provoking a small chuckle from her.

Rhaegar moved down again, this time it was clear to him that her breaths and sighs betrayed excitement rather than fear. Gently parting her legs, he could feel her fingers twisting in his hair.

Lyanna's eyes fluttered and her breath unsettled, as crashes of sea against the shore as her lover set upon his task, his head slowly moving between her thighs. There Lyanna felt a pressure, a need for release that she didn't know how would solve until she felt a crash through out her, a sweet pleasure fever that made her tremble, taking away any trace of consciousness for a second.

„Wow.“ Was all she said breathlessly as he came up again; kissing at her pulse point, Rhaegar could feel the remnants of her excitement as if it was his own. Pulling away so that she could look at him for a moment, Lyanna traced her fingers softly over his cheekbone. Her grey eyes intently studied him; his eyes were dark, so dark they seemed to bleed into black. When he moved so he could place a short kiss on her fingertips it made another low chuckle escape her.

Regaining her seriousness as she looked upon him, Lyanna let her hand trail down his stomach muscles and to the top of his breeches. This time he didn't stop her as she pulled on the lace strings.    

„It might hurt.“ Rhaegar softly murmured against her ear. „If you feel uncomfortable at any moment, stop me.“ He pulled back to look at her seriously, waiting for a confirmation. Lyanna just gave him a small silent nod, eyes shining as she did so, and he softly kissed her lips.

His hand clasped over hers at the top of his breeches, he pinned it back up, next to her. Unsheathing himself, he pushed into her tightness, dark indigo eyes trained on her face searching for any sign of discomfort but he couldn't find any. Sliding slowly, he could feel the moment her maidenhead tore and he flinched, about to pull back but when he looked up at her, her face seemed flushed in pleasure, as opposed to contorted in pain.

Feeling him freeze, Lyanna's eyes fluttered open. She wrapped her arms around him, fingers curling into the silver locks at the nape of his neck when she realized he feared hurting her more than she did. She didn't even know what it was that she was supposed to fear, it was no more than a momentary twinge of pain, one that dwindled as quickly as it had sprung. Her own mind had been more concentrated on the lovely feeling of having him so close, having him a part of her.

„It doesn't hurt.“ Lyanna whispered against his lips softly in reassurance. It seemed to be enough to convince him since he started a slow rhythm of push and pull, yet as gentle and cautious as he could be. His hands slowly caressed her hips, then the silky skin on the inside of her thighs as he kissed her neck and collarbone. He only rose his head at times to look up at her, make sure she was still well even if he could find it was so by the sole breathy moans that played in his ears.

Lyanna held him close, so close that to her it seemed they were to stay intertwined forever. Her hands trailed over his chiseled back, fingers digging into his muscle and flesh. Feeling him inside her, feeling his skin sliding against hers, she wasn't sure how much time had passed but oh, she never wanted him to move away.

Then, a soft grunt tore from his throat, vibrating against her shoulder and Lyanna felt an indescribably pleasant warmth spill through the bottom of her belly. „Oh, my love.“ She absently breathed, her fingers strengthening their hold once again in his silver tresses.

She could feel his own unsettled breath on her skin as Rhaegar rested against her shoulder for a moment, careful not to lay all his weight on her. Then, he moved to lie down beside her, silently catching his own breath.

 Not a moment later, Lyanna sought out his warmth again, and his arm drew her closer to his chest as he sighed happily. A warmth of black velvet covered them when he reached out to pull her cloak over them.

Sighing softly, Lyanna could feel his hand draw soft patterns on her back as she laid her head on his chest, listening for a heartbeat. Oh, she could never imagine it could be so lovely, so warm and right. She wondered if it had been as lovely for him, if he could feel what she felt. Lifting her head from his chest, she turned to look at him as her fingers traced a pattern on his soft lips.

Returning the attention, he smiled sleepily, leaning in and kissing her nose. 

„Are you sore?“ Rhaegar wondered softly as he looked upon her lovely features, his hand resting over her thigh, stroking there gently. Blinking down with concern, he could note the slightest coat of red on the inside of her thigh.

„ A little.“ She confessed glancing up at him, indeed feeling a dull sort of ache growing between her thighs, permeating the pleasant feeling of warmth as she pushed her knees together.

„I'm sorry, my love.“ Rhaegar whispered with regret as he held her close, gently smoothing back her dark locks from her forehead. He had done all he could to ease her pain, but it seemed there was only one way to be rid of a maidenhead. Nuzzling against her sweetly, he placed a gentle kiss against the corner of her mouth in the next moment, comforting.

„Don't be, it's just a bit of blood. “ She whispered back as her fingers ran back and forth on his soft lips. A dreamy, almost shy smile broke out on her face as she watched him, biting her lip. „I shall only hope it is always this wonderful.“ 

 


	22. About a Fury

 

Holding a small hand mirror before her as she sat on the bed, Lyanna let her eyes drift over the reflection of her features. Her cheeks were less pale, she noted, touched by the Southron sun, and her wild locks did not even pretend to cooperate anymore.

If there was one thing Lyanna hated in Winterfell that she had not been doing the past days, it was sitting on her bed, hours on end it seemed, having her handmaidens brush and braid her unruly hair. She hadn't the patience for taking on the task herself.

It was more than once that she had had the temptation to just cut it all off, but she wondered what her lord father would say to that. It was probably the one thing that could tell her well apart from her brothers, her dark tresses that flowed and tangled freely in the wind as she rode.

 Her train of thought was interrupted by a small distant noise; eyes snapping up, Lyanna could see Rhaegar letting himself into the tents. The prince smiled, seeing her seemingly in deep contemplation and the wooden-framed object in front of her.

She grinned back and even more as he slipped to sit behind her, his arms securely around her waist.

„What's with the mirror?“ He whispered to her ear as he moved her hair to the side, exposing her neck. He pressed a kiss there and Lyanna closed her eyes for a second.

Suppressing the sudden urge to turn around and ravish him, Lyanna leaned back into his touch, answering in a murmur instead. „Uhm...not much. I was just thinking about my handmaidens. You know, for all the eye-rolling I did at them, they weren't commended enough for the effort it took to battle my hair.“

„Hmm, I can imagine that.“ Was his cheeky response and she felt his smile against the skin of her shoulder.

„Anyway, I was thinking about cutting it off.“ Mentioned Lyanna idly and he said nothing, he just let his hands trail down the path of her forearms.

„Would you be alright with that?“ Lyanna asked with a slight furrow in her brow as she turned around to look upon his face. He did seem to love her hair oddly so, his fingers always playing in her dark locks.

„If it's your heart's desire, who am I to object?“ He returned sweetly and kissed her soft lips. Having a similar consideration himself, he decided length affected matters very little. It had been a question of practicality for her, and Rhaegar thought it rather fitting.

Feeling his lips brushing against her neck, Lyanna sighed softly at the bolt she felt course through her body. Then, Rhaegar's voice softly vibrated against her shoulder as he asked. „Do you want to do it right now? I can do it for you if you wish.“

„You would do that?“ She breathed in pleasant surprise, turning her head to look at him. Rhaegar nodded with an amused smile, placing a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

„Aye. I know how, I used to cut my hair all the time. Yours is more curly, but I think I'll manage.“ His body warmth was lost to hers for a second as he bolted up, setting on a search of something through one of his trunks.

„Aha.“ Rhaegar pulled out a heavy looking dagger, generously decorated with gold and precious stones and handed it to her to see. Looking over the sumptuously adorned weapon for a second, impressed, Lyanna pulled the blade from its ruby encrusted sheath and gasped in surprise. „Valyrian steel.“ 

Rhaegar gave her a little nod in confirmation.

Lifting her brows, Lyanna grinned with awe. „I guess being a Prince has its perks after all. There are like what, a dozen major blades of Valyrian steel in all the kingdoms?“

„Something like that, aye.“ Rhaegar answered smiling as he returned to his position behind her. His long fingers deftly combed through her long hair, pulling soft locks apart. „So, how much shall I cut?“

Turning her head to the side, Lyanna answered in her husky voice. „Uhm, about shoulder length would be good with some shorter pieces in front, or nay?“

„Aye.“ Rhaegar whispered and leant in over her, prying the weapon from her hands.

„I'm going to need this, my lady knight.“ He grinned and kissed her cheek, noting how mesmerized she was by the shining blade. A lot more than she was with her crown, that was certain. He filed away the information for later; mayhap such a gift would please her more for her nameday than any jewellery he could ever find her.

"You're still sure?“ he stopped to ask one last time, and was answered with an only too eager confirmation.

As the tresses fell one after the other to a dark puddle on the floor, Lyanna felt lighter with each one, inside and out.

* * *

 

„My Lord. You called for me.“ Ned bowed his head slightly as he spoke in a measured voice, waiting for the attention of the man in whose chambers he'd been summoned.

It had been rather strange, he thought, that Robert hadn't been called as well. Ned could not think of a single thing that might concern him, and concern his ward brother less so. He briefly wondered if this had been a private issue, mayhap one of his siblings or his father had fallen sick.

Jon Arryn shifted his gaze toward his ward son from the papers that crowded his work desk; the man's bright blue eyes and an aquiline nose had been a keen reminder of the animal that branded his own house banners.

 The lord's appearance hadn't been quite youthful, certainly not one a person would guess belonged to a man who had yet to start his own family line. It seemed ill luck had befallen the lord in that regard; neither of his two marriages had proven themselves fruitful.  

„Eddard.“ The man gravely addressed the young wolf. Ned shifted on his feet, still unsettled about the motive for this invitation. Even more since Lord Arryn had never struck him as a man of great upsets much like his own father, his demeanor suggested this matter had been rather pressing.

„There's a matter I must speak to you about. Pray, you close the door.“

Ned turned his head, he indeed hadn't shut the heavy wooden doors on his way in. Completing the task, why was such a thing truly important, he wondered. Once turned, he noted the letter that had been silently extended to him.

With a small nod, Ned unfolded the papers and let his steely grey eyes fly over the words. It had been a letter from his father, Lord Rickard.

Putting the letter down before he had an opportunity to read all the way through, Ned's paled face looked up at Jon with incredulity. „Lyanna is missing. Brandon has been imprisoned by the Mad King searching for her. Father went to King's Landing to see about his release.“

Ned had never used that expression before, the nickname the highborn lords had given their ruling figure out of fear as much as out of mockery. It didn't seem Jon Arryn had any reaction to his impertinent choice of word.

„My lord, this means I must immediately return to Winterfell. My family needs me...“

Jon Arryn's hand rose in a calming gesture. „Ned, It is not your father's wish for you to do so. He is asking of me to keep you safe until this matter is resolved. Lord Rickard...seems confident he can manage this issue on his own. As for Lady Lyanna's whereabouts, it seems Lord Rickard believes her safe with the crown prince.“

„The crown prince?“ Ned's brows rose in surprise, his eyes trailing down to the letter again, even if he couldn't concentrate enough on its contents. What could Lyanna possibly be doing with Prince Rhaegar? Suddenly it occured to him why Robert wasn't summoned alongside him. It seemed Lord Arryn had a similar thing in mind.

„Ned, you understand why this is a delicate matter. I fully intend to respect your father's wishes when it comes to resolving this situation. Robert however...might not.“

„I'll speak with him.“ Ned assured right away. He knew right away how Robert's ire would react in such situation, not unlike Brandon's. Harrenhal had been an infuriating memory for him and with good reason, the crown prince overstepped when he awarded Lyanna at the tourney. It had been scandalous regardless of Prince Rhaegar's intentions, which hadn't seemed that troubling to Eddard.

Ned could still remember the overwhelming rage that seemed to consume Robert's insides that day, stealing any calm or sleep from him for the days to come. He had sworn revenge on Rhaegar for the slight.

Surely hearing this, that Lyanna was in the Prince's protection regardless of how it came to it, was enough to fuel those old feelings of jealousy. Even if Ned didn't fully understand the situation, it seemed Lyanna's safety depended on this, his father's and brother's safety.

* * *

 

„What?“ Robert's voice boomed as his cheeks threatened to bleed out in red. „That Targaryen bastard. I knew it Ned, I knew it! Even at Harrenhal, I told you and you didn't listen! Now who knows what he did to your sister, to my sweet Lyanna. Ned, I will kill him, I swear I will. I will have an entire army run over his corpse so help me...“

Ned came closer to him, his hands settled on the other man's bulky shoulders in an attempt of inviting calm. „Robert, I beg of you to settle down. My father doesn't want us to do anything about this, she is his daughter...“

„Not do anything about this? Are you out of your mind? That man is raping your sister, Ned, my betrothed. Are you blind? How can you say that, that you will do nothing? If you won't Ned, if you aren't man enough to protect your own flesh and blood, then I will. She is my betrothed, it is my right, my duty...“

„Not yet.“ Ned reminded icily and Robert's eyes widened. „You haven't been betrothed yet, she is my sister and this is my choice.“

„You bloody bastard.“ Robert murmured with realization. „You knew about this, you knew about it all along! That is why you lied to me, you made me not forge a betrothal yet. Even at Harrenhal, she was his, wasn't she? You knew, and you let it happen.“

„Nay Robert, of course not...“ Ned's lips tightened as he tried persuading him. „ I am your friend, I would never do anything like that...I only meant in both of your interests....“

„You liar!“ Robert's fists grabbed onto Ned's collar. „You are not my friend, you betrayed me. Tell me why, what did I do to you for you to think I'm not worthy of your sister? She was supposed to be mine! Was I not a friend to you, a kind man to her? What kind of a man...“

With a creak of the door, a warning voice came his way. „Robert. This isn't his folly.“ The Stormlord's bright blue eyes still burned into the icy grey with hate as the calm figure of Jon Arryn observed from the doors.

The young wolf took a shallow breath when Robert's hold on him finally loosened. However, Ned still felt regretful over the despising stare his friend was affording him.

„You are a man without honor, Ned Stark.“ Robert's jaw protruded before he retreated bristling with frustration and rage, wondering how it came to him putting his friendship and trust in such a man.

* * *

 

Lyanna pulled her horse's reins as she caught up with Rhaegar, their gaze going beyond the precarious hill they stood on. The wind was whipping her short hair back and a slow ache numbed her body which could only be expected considering they have just ridden from one sundown to another.

They traveled by nights and rested by the day for as long as they followed the Kingsroad. After they reached Dorne, they kept going as the moon faded to make room for its shinier counterpart. Now that they have almost reached the end of their journey, despite the ache and the hunger that gnawed at her, she felt a strange burst of euphoria. Lyanna had to admit the sight was mesmerizing. It was beautiful, the sun was setting again and bathing the nature that expanded in front of them into a splendorous blend of color.

She looked over to her husband only to see him smiling at her, enjoying a beautiful sight of his own.

„Do you see that tower there?“ Her eyes followed and she nodded. 

„It's called the Tower of Joy. For the time being, it is deserted, however the minimal preparations have been made so that we can stay there.“

„We will live there for a while?“ Asked Lyanna, a smile curling on her lips. The tower seemed intriguing enough, but that wasn't the source of her excitement. Rhaegar could have easily told her they were to spend the rest of their days in a basement and she would have been content. As long as he was by her side, she cared not where they were.

Rhaegar nodded. „We will.“ He turned and looked at her again, noting the red flushing on her cheeks and her ragged breathing. She had been exhausted and so had he. He edged his horse closer to hers, being just close enough to lean in and place a small kiss on her cheek.  Lyanna smiled and her mouth sought out his, but he leaned back and she afforded him a small pout. He was teasing her.

„Just a little longer my love, we are almost at the end of our road.“ Smiling, he kicked his horse back into gallop and she followed, their entourage also not far behind. 

 

 


	23. About a Joy

Rhaegar's eyelids slowly fluttered in the battle with the overreaching sunlight; his eyes finally open, the Prince searched with sight what he even in his sleep missed by touch. Realizing he was indeed alone in the sheets, Rhaegar yawned lazily, before he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting against the stony floor of the room he and Lyanna crashed in after arriving bone tired last night.

His wonderment of what it was that his she-wolf prefered this early in the morning over a warm bed didn't last long, as a distant sound of clashing steel drew him toward the window opening.

In the yard before the tower, two figures could be discerned; one belonging to his friend and best knight Rhaegar had ever known, and the other dressed in his grey tunic and her tight breeches, as Rhaegar noted with mild amusement. Watching the scene intently, Rhaegar could see she lacked neither the talent nor the spirit for it, if only a bit of practice, which Lyanna seemed more than glad to seek out. It was no surprise; after all, the circumstances of their acquainting hadn't been something that easily escaped Rhaegar's mind whenever he looked at her.

Even if what was a mostly effortless exchange on Ser Arthur's side seemed to require her attention and effort, it was obvious Lyanna was thoroughly enjoying herself. Maybe what was a harp to himself, a sword would become for her, Rhaegar thought, not with a small amount of wonder.

The round of sparring ended with Arthur's sword beneath her chin, and Rhaegar could see even from this distance that she was miffed. It made a small smile spring on his lips; she definitely didn't lack the spirit of a winner.

A somewhat loud, throaty female voice suddenly snapping him out of his reverie, Rhaegar turned around.

 „My prince, should I be inclined to set the tables for you to break your fast?“ Asked Brygitte in good cheer, as her lively eyes shining upon a plump face seemed to scrutinize the prince with odd keenness. Rhaegar was at first struck with confusion, and then a mild measure of discomfort under the older woman's gaze when he realized he lacked a tunic.

Turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand, Rhaegar spoke again. „Has...“ the princess, he almost said. That wasn't information he was about to easily share. Instead, he opted for a safer address. „...Lady Lyanna yet eaten?“

„Not yet, my prince.“ Brygitte grinned. „M'lady has jumped to the yards as soon as she woke up, which was almost as early as me. I'm afraid that keeping her company, Ser Arthur hadn't a chance to break his fast either.“

„Very well.“ Rhaegar nodded. „It would be a fair guess they would wish to join me then. You can set the tables, thank you.“

Brygitte gave a small bow and a smile, before she retreated in a cheery step. With a small shake of his head, still not quite certain why he felt discomforted, Rhaegar watched about the room, seeking appropriate attire for himself.

Pulling over his head the black tunic that lingered at the edge of his bed, he sought out his boots, finding them by the door. Brightspirited, even if still a bit tired, Rhaegar made his way down the marble steps that meandered to the bottom layer of the tall tower.

Stopping at the open doors to the yard, he observed the scene that now unraveled closer. A few key details he had missed the first time around, Rhaegar thought, mainly just how much effort and frustration Lyanna invested, trying to keep up with her skilled teacher. Ser Arthur did not kid around; if one hadn't been privy to the details of the situation, the idea that a princess was standing before the knight, and not an aspiring knight in training would have seemed preposterous.

Rising to every bit of the challenge, Lyanna's eyes were trained in attack and her sword hand was slightly shaking as she breathed hard, waiting for Arthur's next move. The sight had Rhaegar think that if he wasn't in love with her, he would have fallen in that very moment.

„Bloody hells.“ Lyanna grumbled with a slight of pain as she found herself on her back in the following moment, likely not for the first time since this morning. Ser Arthur approached with a slight smile, giving her his hand and Lyanna swiftly rose to her feet, determined to give better resistance next time.

Moving back into position, the Sword of the Morning noted the sight of his prince silently observing the scene from the doors, and he decided that was cause enough for a break.

„My lady, maybe we can pick up your lessons after lunch.“ Ser Arthur suggested, watching over his obviously exhausted student who wasn't willing to admit to it.

 The knight himself had hardly broken a sweat, but he hadn't found himself bored with the lessons either. Every time Lyanna would fall down, she would get back up, and avoid making the same mistake again. Noticing that his remarks about her sword holding and posture had a permanent effect, as well as the fact she observed intently and made an effort to imitate his moves, Ser Arthur thought the lessons made for quite a useful time spent.

„Just call me Lyanna.“ She breathed out with some effort, as she retreated to the side to help herself to a swig of cool water, moisten her dry throat. Putting down the skin of water, her own eyes fell distracted as she looked toward the fair sight of her prince leaned against the door jamb.

Smiling shyly at the sight of being discovered, Rhaegar spoke in a bright voice. „Forgive me for the intrusion, I just thought maybe you and Ser Arthur would like to break your fast with me.“

„Gladly, my prince.“ Ser Arthur intoned with a small bow of his head as he passed Rhaegar in the doors, leaving them to their own devices as the famished knight made his way to the kitchens.

Lyanna made her own brisk way forward; the sight of short dark locks sticking to her face with sweat and her grey clothed chest rising and falling as she tried to settle her breathing served a fair distraction to the prince. Feeling his veins ovewhelm with fire for her, Rhaegar watched her mutely.

„What?“ Asked Lyanna with confusion in the next second, taking in the dumbfounded sight of him before her hand reached out to cup his cheek lovingly. „Let us go, I'm starving.“

* * *

 

Sat around the dark wooden table were a lady and three knights; Ser Oswell found his way down as well, relinquishing morning sleep in favor of something to line his stomach with. Brygitte made her way around the table as she placed down bowls and plates of bread, cheese, vegetables and fruit, all in abundance, along with summerwine to wash it all down.

Just as Lyanna dug into her plate, the plump, joyous lady moving behind her gave her a light squeeze on her shoulder. „Ah m'lady, 'tis good you have such an apetite. Look at you, only skin and bones.“ Lyanna shrugged shyly before she reached for a piece of bread lying in a basket at the center of the table, opting for a smaller one.

„Don't listen to her.“ Arthur said in a light jesting tone, as he looked upon the servant woman with a small smile on his face. Then to Lyanna. „A good swordsman or a swordswoman must be fast and agile. I won't teach you if your girth surpasses your height.“

„I doubt we're in danger of that happening any time soon.“ Oswell quipped watching her as he chugged down some of the wine.  

„So, how are the sword lessons going?“ Rhaegar asked even if he could see well enough for himself, thinking to save Lyanna from the direction the conversation was taking.

„Very well.“ Arthur nodded. „ The lady is very fast, and has good instincts as well. Even if a bit unpolished, some practice will work it all out.“

„Ser Arthur is being too kind.“ Lyanna smiled to her teacher who watched to the prince with amusement. Then dryly, she remarked. „I've fallen on my butt more times than I could count.“

At this, Ser Oswell gave a suffocated chuckle into his wine cup, then coughed. He'd been taken off guard by Lyanna's choice of word, he hadn't thought he'd ever hear that kind of language from a mouth of a highborn lady. Any he knew, Oswell considered far too polished to be able to lead any type of an honest conversation.

Ignoring the strange glances from everyone at the table, Oswell spoke to his princess. „That's because Ser Arthur is too much of a true knight to go easy on you. I remember my own training, it didn't exactly go any easier than that. In no time, you will learn and then you'll be glad.“

„I wasn't complaining.“ Lyanna answered casually as she plucked at her cheese. She didn't want to be indulged, she wanted to learn and she hoped such a thing would be clear. However, Ser Oswell had planted a displeasing bug in her ear; it was true, being seen as Rhaegar's princess probably wouldn't serve her any honesty in life from the people around her. Except from at least Rhaegar himself, she hoped.

Finishing with her breakfast, Lyanna wiped her mouth before she rose to her feet.

„If we are done with our lessons for now, I shall go change.“ Ser Arthur nodded and Lyanna made her way upstairs, but not before her hand rested on Rhaegar's shoulder in a silent excuse.

Rising right after she left, Rhaegar cleared his throat. „I shall go see about my readings then.“

„My prince.“ Both knights nodded as Rhaegar motioned for them to stay seated and made his way up the steps as well. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell just looked at one another in silence, not quite convinced by the prince's excuse.

* * *

 

Shedding her boots as she walked through the open door, Lyanna had a thought to call her handmaidens to prepare her a bath, but any idea of that had evaporated from her mind as she felt strong arms wrapping around her waist.

 Leaning back with a small grin on her lips, Lyanna let her hands clasp over her prince's. „What are you doing here?“ She asked sweetly, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice.

„I was thinking you might want some help.“ Whispered Rhaegar softly in her ear as he held close behind her. In truth, he was the one in need of help. He couldn't still his heart for as long as she sat in front of him at the table, and not to mention when she wielded steel in the yard just before that. Now being so near her, feeling her skin ever so slightly coated with sweat and warmth, he could only sense all those effects intensify.

„Help, huh? With changing?“ Asked Lyanna brightly as she finally turned around to look upon his features. His eyes were so dark and his face held an expression of seriousness, she could note.

„Uh huh.“ Rhaegar confirmed in a murmur before he placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

The effect had been feverish, explosive, surprising as Lyanna pushed him back, shutting down the door by using his own weight against it. He wasn't the only one positively bursting with energy, energy Lyanna felt would consume her insides unless she shared it with him.

„Oh.“ Was all Rhaegar said before she jumped him, quite literally as she secured her arms around his neck, kissing him feverishly. In the next moment, her thighs tightened around his waist with the assistance of his arms for support.

Kissing her back with passion, Rhaegar easily turned them around so that now Lyanna was the one who found herself with her back against the wooden surface.

Feeling that he held her well enough without her help, Lyanna broke the kiss, relinquishing her hold around him for a second as she ridded herself of her or rather his grey tunic. Rhaegar only smiled as she tossed the garment somewhere off to the side, and buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting there gently.

Lyanna gave him something between a moan and a sigh as he leaned his head, kissing softly at the bare swell of her chest.

Drowning in her skin, Rhaegar softly murmured. „We should go to bed.“

Suppressing a soft giggle that threatened to escape her, Lyanna retorted. „I was thinking we should not.“

Rising his head as he sought out the laces of her breeches with one hand, as another kept her safe between the door and his own hips, Rhaegar sweetly murmured into her ear. „That can be arranged.“

 


	24. About a Sun

„My sweet boy.“ Ashara crooned as she held a fussing babe in her arms. While not hers of blood, Ashara's kinship to his mother served him a lot of her attention.

The child was of a bright silver hair and dark indigo eyes, much in resemblance to his father. Elia seemed to have left little of herself in him, at least in terms of looks. How the child would grow up to act, was yet to be seen. There was a common saying: _Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land._

Ashara wondered about such a thing; the saying seemed to have been proven true in practice. Many people wondered how such a king like Aerys could have such a prince like Rhaegar born off of his blood, even if the king himself had not shown any sign of madness until later in age. Defiance of Duskendale had been the turning event, or so Ashara had heard. The King had been imprisoned by one of his lords, only to be saved by the glorious knights of his kingdom, namely Barristan the Bold. However, the king had never been the same again, and the realm suffered.

 Rhaegar on the other hand, besides being every maiden's dream, even if Ashara herself never held a special interest in the man in that way, mostly for the fact she would never have eyes for her friend's husband, seemed to have been every lord's dream as well. The realm was getting impatient to dethrone Aerys and crown Rhaegar instead. Many talked about it in hushes and whispers, some even talked about Rhaegar's plans for assuring such a thing.

Ashara had never directly heard of any plans, neither from Elia nor from Arthur, although she knew better than to assume Elia would know anything even if that was the case, and Arthur was a faithful knight a lot more than he was her brother. While Ashara thought in the past such a thing would most certainly been welcome, the present left her with doubts.

Being a witness to Rhaegar's behavior lately, Ashara wondered just how right everyone had been in the assessment of his character. He had left his wife and newborn babe, still at her breast in order to chase some administrative duties, or so had been the official story. Speaking to Elia, Ashara had gotten a different impression.

When she brought the subject up, the princess just sulked and said it was better not to talk about such a thing. I don't own his heart, she said. The choice of word stuck with Ashara. Although she knew better than to prod further, her own conclusions about Rhaegar lessened in height since that conversation.

She could still remember on whose head that crown of winter roses ended up, and she remembered Elia's reaction, or a lack of one. Ashara knew she and Rhaegar have not had the most loving of marriages, and only saw of each other as much as was necessary. However, he had never done something like that in the past, disrespected her publicly. It made Ashara's veins flow with ire; she hated Rhaegar in that moment.

Mayhap Elia didn't love him, and he didn't love her, but he needn't be so public about whichever affairs he found closer to his heart on the side. And he needn't abandon her when she was so weak, and made weaker in her efforts to bring his child into the world.

Why were men such disgusting creatures, made blind by their desires and resentful by their duties, Ashara did not know. Looking at the sweet babe in her arms, she wondered how did they get from there to here; from being a babe at their mother's breast, depending on a woman and her nourishment, only to grow up and treat other women as nothing better than vessels for their own needs and entertainment.

At least Elia was lucky, her son would one day be king and no one would ever mistreat her again. Ashara hoped both of them would be alive to witness that day.  

„Let's go little prince, let's go see your mother.“ Ashara spoke in a sweet voice to the little babe secured in her arms, as her legs and skirts moved toward the princess' chambers. The princess had wanted to take some rest, so Ashara had taken it upon herself to entertain the little princeling. She would need the practice anyway, Elia told her. For when her own child would come into this world.

Touching a hand to her belly she decided, mayhap her child wouldn't have a true last name, but he would never lack a mother's love.

„Ah, there you are.“ The princess smiled weakly from the bed, her copper skin pale and Ashara curtsied as she entered through the doors. Coming closer, Ashara had deposited the little babe in his mother's arms. Elia embraced him carefully, soothing a soft cry that came from the bundle. 

„He's been acting up a bit lately, my poor Aegon.“ Elia sighed. „Teething, I've been told. With Rhaenys it started a lot later, but the maesters said it was normal, if painful for a babe.“

Ashara nodded, lost in her own thoughts it seemed, and Elia motioned for her to sit by her on the bed. The lady did so, letting out a soft sigh as her weight settled next to the princess'.

 Elia reached out with her free hand and clasped over Ashara's own. „You are scared, aren't you?“

„How could I not be scared?“ Asked Ashara as she wiped a stray tear that threatened to spill from the corner of her eye. „I am terrified. What will happen when everyone finds out about this, how will they react? How will I handle a babe on my own?“

With a small sniffle, she continued. „I've written to him, _Brandon_.“- the way she said his name, it was as if she was angered and ashamed all at once. „He had not even dignified me with a response. I'm not asking for him to marry me, I have no hopes of that sort. What good would it do me, and now he's...imprisoned.“

Ashara turned her red-rimmed eyes to the princess. „Elia, do you think...“ then in a softer voice. „If the king were to find out I'm carrying his child, do you think he would hurt it? Brandon might as well be deemed a traitor, who knows what the king has in store for him...“

„Shh.“ Elia soothed her friend. “I don't know what will be of Brandon Stark. It's not something I have control over. But you, I shall protect. I have promised you that. No one shall hurt you, or your babe. And the king isn't going to find out, he has no way to do so. When the time comes, I will send you away and you will give birth somewhere safe.“

„I'm lucky to have a friend such as you.“ Spoke Ashara through unshed tears. „And I am here for you as well, as much as you need me. And I know you do now, that Rhaegar...“

Elia shook her head. „That is nothing that either of us should be concerned over. Rhaegar has his life and I have mine. They overlap when it comes to our children, and I know he holds affection for them. That is enough for me.“

„He treats you ill.“ Ashara couldn't help but spit out, her voice grave.“He has no idea how lucky _he_ is. That you are raising his children, teaching them kindness and respect while he's off...chasing other women or playing his harp or whatever he is doing.“

„He is kind, that's enough. I have no need for his love.“ Elia returned, her almost black eyes tracing over her best friend's paler features. „And being in court for the years that I was, I learned that I have no need for pride either. People talk, I know they do. Whether or not he gives them cause to. I've learned not to let it affect me far before I wasn't afforded a silly crown.“

* * *

 

Returning from a little morning walk she had taken, Lyanna and her knight companion reached their staying place, where Oswell caught up with Ser Arthur and Lyanna was free to roam to the upstairs of the tower.

Lyanna had been more than a little annoyed that Rhaegar would not hear under any circumstances for her to go out alone, and just when she thought to protest, he had begged her to at least not do so while they were in Dorne, for her own safety.

The gravity in his words persuaded her and she agreed grudgingly, at least this one time. Lyanna did not like her life disrupted by the presence of danger, she thought it amounted to being locked away in any case. If she could not move freely, what else was left there?

Rhaegar seemed to understand her dissatisfaction and reluctance, swearing it was only temporary and that, once the situation was settled, she could make do with minimal protection. She couldn't really deny him when he'd asked her so sweetly, and when it seemed to have given him a peace of mind.  

Ser Oswell had at first trailed in her wake, like a ghost in a white cloak at her heels, which had been odd and distracting to Lyanna, especially since she was accustomed to having a normal conversation with the knight. It took three tries from her for Oswell to drop the guard thing and catch up with her, so she could speak with him as they walked.

The knight seemed to have an odd sense of humor, Lyanna noted, but it amused her all the same. They spoke of her lessons, of Ser Arthur and Rhaegar, and Oswell did not have a single bad word for either of them, and honestly so, it seemed as well. At one point, he had mentioned Elia, but immediately retracted awkwardly, and looked away from her.

Lyanna herself wasn't sure how to feel of that whole matter; it seemed there had been a part of Rhaegar's life in which she had no insight to, one that had been so strange and foreign to her. She felt like she knew him, she felt that way since the first day she met him in the godswood of Harrenhal. She knew his thoughts and his dreams, his heart's desires, but she didn't know of the life he had to lead as the crown prince. He had abandoned that life, so that he could be with her. And Lyanna could not blame him, after all, she had abandoned hers.

 It had been a strange thought, a sting of betrayal to think that those in whom you once trusted unconditionally that they would extend you love and protection, worked to achieve their own goals through you. Lyanna wondered, in fact she was sure Rhaegar understood the feeling; he must have when his own princely obligations forced him into a marriage at a young age, much like what would have happened to her. Was something like that truly necessary, to keep the world going around and around? It seemed rotten to the core to her, such a world. It was one which she would have to fight instead of work to hold up, if she longed for any prospect of happiness. 

Regardless of it all, Lyanna hated to think her actions were causing pain to any other person who found themselves with her in this mess they all called life. And Princess Elia seemed like the obvious victim of this situation, even if Rhaegar assured her Elia had nothing to grieve over. 

She remembered something Old Nan had told her a while ago, that a person could only help as much as they were helped. Lyanna could not help this situation for anyone with anything short of denying herself and Rhaegar each other, and that was something she simply wasn't strong enough to do.

Snapping her out of her somber thoughts was the sound of a harp, drifting effortlessly through air from the tallest heights of the tower, the solar Lyanna already knew Rhaegar had occupied as his study, cluttering it with books and scribbles.

 Listening intently as she continued climbing the steps, drawn over by the sound, Lyanna couldn't help but recall the first time she had seen the prince; even if it would take for another encounter for her to truly see him, that night she got a glimpse into the soul that she cherished so much. There was no way a man could have so much pain in his voice, if he did not feel it within himself, she thought even then.

This melody carried by his voice right now, it wasn't the same one from that night; Lyanna would have known, she remembered those notes as if she had heard them a thousand times. Nay, this was another song he sang, but it was sad all the same, mayhap in a different way.

That first melody, it was of destruction, loss and despair, regret that the world had been ridded of a beautiful thing. This one he sang right now, it was of longing and unfulfilled desire, grievance of that which never had a chance to be.

Stopping at the half-open door, Lyanna observed her prince as his sad voice came to a halt, with the last tugs his fingers gave to the gentle silver strings. Taking a breath, Rhaegar opened his eyes and looking up, noticed her. He seemed startled for a second before he afforded her a smile that still had some remnants of sadness in it, as he reached with his hand for her to come closer, bright purple looking at her.

Lyanna did, and as she approached close enough, Rhaegar tugged at her hand, spinning her into his lap. It made a small grin spring to her lips as she took in the sight of him; her hand trailed for a second over his cheekbone.

„I'm sorry if I interrupted you, I just couldn't help but overhear. You do play the harp beautifully so.“ Said Lyanna softly as she watched him, seeing his expression had been light as he looked upon her.

 „I'm afraid that has more to do with the harp than with me.“ Rhaegar smiled. „The silver strings hold all the sounds, one must only know how to tug on them properly. I shall be more than glad to teach you if you wish, my love.“

„I would like that, but not as much as I like to hear you sing.“ Lyanna confessed with a small bite to her lip. Then she asked. „Which song was it that you sang, it was so beautiful. I don't think I've ever heard anything like it before.“

„No one has.“ Returned Rhaegar, thoughtful. „I had written it after I returned from Harrenhal, and I only sang it for my own comfort. It meant too much for me to share.“

Lyanna suddenly thought she might have encroached on a secret. „But, I'm glad you heard it.“ Rhaegar returned, as his hand reached to move a lock from her forehead. „I had written it with you in mind, after all.“

„Me?“ Asked Lyanna breathless, grey eyes watching him. Rhaegar just nodded before he gave her a sweet kiss on her cheek.

He whispered softly into her hair as he held her. „Aye, you my lady knight. I thought I would never see you again and I...I couldn't let it go that easily. I'm glad I didn't, though.“

Moving her head so that she was closer to him, Lyanna spoke against his lips. „I'm glad you didn't, too.“ Looking up at him shy, with a slight smile, she continued. „Since we're sharing secrets, I have one, too. That night when I first heard you sing, I wept.“

It earned her a small, sad smile from him, before his hand went to cup her cheek. „I shall only hope to never make you weep again, at least not the tears of sadness.“ Looking down at his lips, Lyanna reached to seek a seal of confirmation to his promise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be starting a vacation in a day or two where I won't have an Internet connection, so this story will continue in about two weeks. I hope it's not too long a wait, and please tell me what you think so far :)


	25. About a Fear

Making her way to the kitchens with her grey silky skirts floating behind her, Lyanna looked around and sighed; it seemed Rhaegar was nowhere to be found this fair afternoon.

The dress she wore was an only slightly sleeved light piece of black and grey silk, more appropriate for the hot Dornish climate than any other of her Northern dresses would be, even had she had them with herself. It had been her husband's gift to her, for when his tunic and her leather breeches wouldn't suffice.

She smiled internally at her own choice of word, it felt so peculiar that she was married, and happily.

„What are you grinning about, m'lady?“ Came the bright voice from Brygitte as she dusted off her skirts. Lyanna smiled at the woman, but didn't offer an answer.

Approaching, the other woman looked up with shining dark eyes and pinched Lyanna's cheek. „Ah, m'lady, you are so pale. There, that's better.“

„You should have seen me in the North.“ Lyanna mumbled under her breath.

Her eyes snapped up as the other woman happily inquired. „You're from the North, m'lady? That's a long journey to make here.“

Maybe she shouldn't have said that, Lyanna thought. Her tongue was faster than her smarts. While Rhaegar put his trust in anyone who was privy to knowing the prince occupied the tower, her presence was still to be kept discrete. „Aye, it is.“  

„Much cold up there, isn't it?“ Asked Brygitte with a smile as she moved to fetch them a pitcher of cold water. „'Tis much too hot in here. I've lived here all my life, and I still am not used to it.“

„I am not used to it either.“ Lyanna sighed. „It might be cold in the North, but the furs seem to be better at giving warmth than anything around here is in giving relief against the burning sun.“

Taking a sip from the goblet that was extended to her, Lyanna cleared her throat. „You wouldn't happen to know where the prince is? I searched for him upstairs but I couldn't find him.“

„Well, that is odd.“ Returned the other woman. „He was upstairs the last I've seen of him, Ser Arthur went up to speak with him and then he was gone, but the prince hadn't come down. Are you sure he's not there, m'lady, he must be in his study. Or in...his chambers.“

Lyanna sulked at that pause; she and Rhaegar have had separate rooms for appearances, but it seemed to have stayed on shallow appearances only, for every night he would warm her bed. Anyone who would go upstairs could see that his sleeping chambers were no more than underused.

She wondered what the couple of servants who roamed around, making sure everything ran smoothly, thought of it. Certainly the only obvious option, that she was his mistress. It didn't bother Lyanna much, except it sometimes made her note a semblance of mocking undertones directed her way.

„Ah well, I shall have to see once again then.“ Lyanna bit her lip before she picked up her skirts and made her brisk way up the steps.

As she made her way down the halls, she noted the doors to his solar were half-open. Instead of just peaking and deciding the room was void, this time Lyanna entered the room, seeing Rhaegar's usual place behind the desk had indeed been void, but the doors to the terrace had been unsealed.

Making her way toward the bright lit space, Lyanna felt a strange feeling of foreboding overtaking her senses, but she took a small breath. Rhaegar indeed stood there calm, his dark-clothed back turned to her, his head seemingly inclined downward with the soft silver tresses spilling over his shoulders.

Silently walking up to him, Lyanna wrapped her arms around his waist as she leaned against his back; she missed him and now, seeing him standing there for such a long time, she was worried.

His hands clasped over hers, warm, and it gave her a small sense of relief until he turned around and she saw the grave expression his face bore. Looking down, she noticed a letter in his hand.

Rhaegar silently handed her the piece of paper in the next second. Looking up at him, Lyanna reluctantly unfolded it, as if she knew to fear whatever was written there. Blinking, her grey eyes trailed over the lines.

_My Prince, I regret to inform you that the King has sent for and imprisoned Brandon Stark under the charge of treason. Lord Rickard was sent for as well and is on his way to King's Landing, the trial has been postponed until his arrival. Your presence at the capital is needed immediately._

There was no signature. Lyanna frantically looked for a date stamp, finding it and finding this letter was written more than a fortnight ago. She felt a tight pressure gripping around her heart, thinking to her brother in danger. _Imprisoned by the Mad King for treason._ Nay, it couldn't have been a coincidence.

This was her doing, if only she had went voluntarily when the King sent for her, none of this would have happened, Brandon would be safe in Riverrun with his bride. This letter was old, only Gods knew how Brandon was doing, if he even was alive. And what of her father? Summoned into the lair of snakes, his son set as bait to him. What would the Mad King do to them?

She felt her knees buck under her and Rhaegar gently caught her.

Lyanna looked up at him with pleading eyes. „Are you sure?“ She asked in a low voice, trying to keep herself together.

Rhaegar silently nodded, his lips tightened with sorrow as he showed her the sealed wax. It was a private seal only used by Jon Connington for their private correspondence.

Lyanna's gaze dropped again to the letter; as she looked it over, the ink turned into a large blur before her. Her hands gripped on the sides of the paper, crumpling it. Swallowing down a scream as hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, Lyanna turned around and ran down the hall.

Looking after her, Rhaegar followed in a slower pace after a moment.

„Lyanna, wait, you can't go there.“ He said with a sigh, as he waited in the doorway of their room.

Lyanna didn't hear him, she pulled a leather bag from under the bed and carelessly threw clothes into it. She couldn't see what she was doing for the tears distorted her focus, but nonetheless she wasn't going to let them spill. She needed to be strong for her brother and father.

„I have to. This is all my fault, if I hadn't given the Mad King an excuse...“

In a calm voice, Rhaegar responded. „This is not your fault, what were you supposed...“

„I don't care!“ She yelled, then continued in a lower voice. „It doesn't matter if it's my fault, I have to make things right...“

„If you go there now, you'll only make things worse.“

„I have to try. I don't even know if...“ she couldn't say it. „I have to try.“ Lyanna reassured, for herself as much as for him.

Rhaegar could feel his heart tremble, he suffered as he watched the hurt in her. He needed to persuade her. „It's too dangerous for you to go before the King. I shall go, I already told Arthur to prepare the horses as soon as I opened it. I just wanted to wait till you returned, to tell you.“

„Then we can go together.“ Lyanna answered firmly, her jaw set. She threw her comb in the bag with force and her lower lip quivered with a sigh, tears now trailing down her cheeks but she didn't let up.

Rhaegar walked up to her in the following moment, prying a dress from her hand without a word as he did so. She looked at him, eyes defiant, and Rhaegar just closed an embrace around her. Holding her, he could feel just how tense she was. 

He pleaded with her quietly as he stroked her hair. „Lya I beg of you, please trust me. I will do everything in my power to help them, I swear to you. But I need to know you're safe. Please my love.“

Her husky voice protested as she looked up at him. „I will go crazy, I want to go with you...“

Rhaegar spoke in a gentle voice as he soothed her, pulling her back into his arms. „I know you do. I know. But you can't help your family like this.“

Lyanna's body finally relaxed and soft sobs rattled her chest and his too, as he held her even closer to him. 

„Shh my love. It will all be alright.“ Rhaegar only prayed what he said wasn't a lie.

When she didn't say anything, he pulled away from her just enough to look upon her face. His thumb gently trailed over her cheek, wiping the remnant of the tears there. Lyanna's breath hitched as she looked up.

„You swear?“ Her voice was unusually childish and tender, he realized she felt helpless. It was a rare thing for her and it scared her.

„I do.“ Rhaegar assured softly as he watched her with a seriousness.

Her misty, grey eyes didn't leave his as he spoke. „And you promise you will be safe?“

„I promise.“ The prince whispered embracing her again, soft lips kissing her forehead.

* * *

 

Donning a dark cloak, Rhaegar checked the saddle on his horse again, making sure that the straps were well tightened. The truth was that he knew they were, but he had too much nervous energy, too many worries on his mind. He barely convinced Lyanna to stay.

Rhaegar knew she would want to come with, that sitting in one place expecting news would probably be torture for her. Regardless of it, he couldn't let her anywhere near the Mad King and he knew it. For her sake or the sake of her family.

Ser Arthur Dayne was to accompany him on this trip, they would ride as long and as fast as they could till they reached King's Landing. There Rhaegar hoped he would find Lord Stark and be able to convince his father into arranging a release for Brandon Stark. He didn't dare think what would happen if that plea were to be declined.

„My Prince, we're almost set.“  The voice of Ser Arthur drifted to him sooner than the light from the lamp he carried in the night did.

The sound of crickets could be heard in the distance. A couple of servants drifted around the horses, checking once again everything was in order and fixing their traveling bags in place.

„Good. Where is Ser Oswell, I need to speak with him.“

„I'm right here, my Prince.“ The knight walked briskly from the shadows, he gave Rhaegar a small bow.

Rhaegar spoke to him in a serious tone of voice.„You know what to do. You stay here, take care of the Princess. You are to remain her shadow, even if it annoys her. Protect her with your life if you must. Can I put my trust in you?“

The other knight bowed dutifully. „Of course, My Prince.“

„Good.“

His gaze trailed beyond the other man who retreated, seeing Lyanna walking out from the tower. She was so pale, her milk-white skin shining in the moonlight as she quietly walked up to him.

Even if she seemed calm and collected now, the bulk of her tears shed, he knew pain and fear lingered beneath the surface. Approaching, she handed him a small roll of paper without a word. Rhaegar slowly pried it from her fingers, his hand brushed against hers as he did.

„I'll make sure he gets it.“ Rhaegar assured, his indigo gaze serious on hers through the darkness, and Lyanna gave him a small nod.

Suddenly, she threw herself around his neck and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, so tight. Holding her, Rhaegar breathed in the scent of her dark curls, begging the Gods it wasn't the last time he could do so. He had no way of knowing how this matter would end, or what it would mean for them. He could only give it his best efforts. As she returned to her feet, her eyes studied his solemn expression. 

„You promise?“ Lyanna prompted once again as her eyes implored him, not needing to say what.

„I promise.“ Rhaegar leaned in, sealing his vow with a brush of his lips against hers. It was soft and sweet, but it made her burn.

Both of them knowing it was time to go, they pulled apart. Lyanna watched as he mounted his horse, Ser Arthur as well. Before digging his heels in, the crown prince gave her a small comforting smile, one that somehow made her feel all of it would come to pass.

Watching after a thunder of hoofbeats and thinking she would stay hundreds of miles away from everyone she loved, Lyanna could only long for her second biggest consolation in life, the heart tree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vacation has been postponed for now, so here's another chapter. Any and all comments more than welcome :)


	26. Fathers

As he dismounted slowly from his black destrier, Rhaegar only felt the effects of the weariness that numbed his body intensify, turning his limbs into tired sacks of flesh. His body had been numb, but his soul had never felt more alive in the most discomforting sense possible, burning with fear and anticipation of tragic news.

He begged the Gods to not receive any, for he knew the truth of all his promises hindered on it. In the case there were indeed such news, the prince didn't know how he would find it in himself to tell his winter maiden that her brother and father, dearest to her soul, had died as a consequence of their actions.

Nay, Lyanna would never forgive him, he wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive himself. It would surely be a dark cloud, eternally undispersed over their love, as well as a grievous wound to her soul itself. He dreaded to think to the idea of her bearing that burden, the idea of her eyes watching to him begrudging, regretful when she would realize she had made an irreparable mistake.

What Rhaegar wished for was to always see her joyful and laughing, with a glimpse of love for him in those grey eyes if it wasn't too much to ask, for he found her smile lit up his own heart even when he lacked that brightness within himself. The contrast of grief he'd seen on her face as she read the news he fed her from his own hand, it had cut deep, so deep that the only thing that kept him sane was the speck of doubt that allowed her to turn to him for comfort. How could he be strong when she felt weak?

„My Prince, are you well?“ Came the hoarse voice from Ser Arthur and Rhaegar turned his red-rimmed eyes to the knight.

„I'm fine. Just tired.“ The prince replied unconvincingly.

Clearing his thoughts, as if it were something done on command, Rhaegar gathered the remnants of his strength and made his way forward, with Ser Arthur faithfully following even if his own step showed signs of weariness. 

 „There is no time to be tired, though. We must gather information immediately, before we speak to the king.“

„My prince.“ The strong, bright voice snapped both men's heads back up with surprise, as their state hadn't been quite one of attentiveness. Jon Connington shifted on his heels, greeting the morning with rested enthusiasm both Rhaegar and Arthur could only wish for.

What the prince desired even more in this moment, was the crucial information that the Hand of King was surely in possession of.

„Brandon Stark?“ Were the only words out of his mouth as the redhaired man approached, adjusting his pace with other two knights as they walked toward the gates of the Red Keep. Rhaegar's words had been timid; his knowledge of his father's character made him fear the answer.

„Imprisoned.“ Was the brisk answer and Rhaegar could feel a gasp of relief dislodging itself from his throat, thanking the Gods that the word out of Jon's mouth hadn't been _burned_.

„So is Rickard Stark.“ Jon continued firmly, affording his prince another unpleasant surprise. „The trial should begin today; even if belated, I daresay your appearance is right on point if you wish to influence the situation in any way.“

Rhaegar blinked, trying not to think what would indeed happen had the message been belated if only for a day. „The trial? What are the accusations? Especially Rickard Stark; your message left me under the impression that he was invited to witness the trial, not to partake as a defendant.“

„Officially? Treason and being an accomplice in the same. Unofficially? They pissed the King off. Brandon came to the royal gates, challenging you to a duel because he thought his sister was with you. Then, the King accused Rickard Stark of hiding his daughter from the crown, and Lord Rickard was daring enough to agree with his son and implicate you in the situation.“

„Ahh.“ Rhaegar sighed, already able to imagine the King's reaction to such a thing. Lord Rickard had been privy to the truth the king was only going to learn today.

„They surely are wrong, My Prince?“ Asked Jon with a hint of caution in his usually daring voice, causing Rhaegar's head to jerk back with a lack of concentration. „Wrong about what?“

„About Lyanna Stark? Please don't tell me you have something to do with that; the king's ire already knows no bounds.“

* * *

 

Rhaegar entered the, what was in his mind, the most ominous hall space in the Seven Kingdoms. The one that held witness to who knows how many bursts of wildfire and screams, innocent lives taken. So many insults and threats flunked at him and his mother, the woman who proved a title and a crown meant little to someone not treated better than a prisoner within her own marriage.

Rhaegar sometimes thought it to be a blessing that little Viserys sitting in their mother's lap could not understand the word of what the king spoke, even if he knew even a child of his age could feel the dread from the bare shrill in his voice. At least they wouldn't be present for this audience, he had gotten news they have temporarily been moved to Dragonstone.

As he walked accompanied by the two men who trailed in his wake, Rhaegar's boot heels clacked upon the black marble that paved the room as he made his way forward with confidence, but not arrogance. He had it practiced, the walk. Just the one that said he was worthy of being his father's heir and Prince, and at the same time signaled he was not bold enough to be a threat to the Throne.

The Iron Throne itself was meant to be threatening; angry spikes and blades shone outward from its steel form, forged in dragon breath.

The unwelcoming iron just seemed to say that whoever dared occupy its form, had better be worthy of it. The whole room filled Rhaegar with dread. It was where he had witnessed the decline of his father from a prosperous ruler to a monster.

Many things about the scene before him reminded Rhaegar of his monstrosity, even when he didn't speak. His unbelievably long nails which were a result of the king's far overreaching mistrust for those around him, the long red scabs and cuts over his body as if the Iron Throne itself seemed to have protested the Mad King sitting on it. Rhaegar wanted to shake his head at the sight every time. However, he did not.

He came to a halt at a measurable distance from the throne, and bowed his head. „Your Grace.“

King Aerys just scoffed and motioned with his scabbed arm that he come closer. Rhaegar did not dare look more closely, but it seemed once again blood dripped off of his father's body. _How can he hold a realm together when he can't come to a simple agreement with a chair?_ Nonetheless, Rhaegar had pushed back the unfavorable, discomforting thoughts. The situation shall be remedied soon enough. All he needed to do was keep the kingdoms in one piece until that happened...

„Where have you been?“ The king's voice loudly shrilled, he was obviously not pleased. But he was never pleased and Rhaegar was quite expectant of that.

„In Dorne, Your Grace. I had some urgent matters to attend to.“

„Don't lie to me, boy. I know you think I'm stupid, but I know everything. I know how you're plotting against me, plotting with those Starks. Those Northern bastards.  I know that you took and hid that wolf bitch I sent for. How dare you prevent my commands from being obeyed?“

Rhaegar clenched his fist in silence, preparing himself for what he had to do. He wasn't sure this plan of his would work, but he had to try. He had to persuade the King into at least seeming calmness. _Just a little longer..._

„My King, please accept my deepest apologies. I have acted without your permission and I have not even informed you. But it was for a good reason. I discovered something that required immediate action. And I did not trust neither carriers nor ravens to deliver you this news. Which is why I am here in person, to explain.“

„Explain what, boy? Talk if you wish to talk. Just don't forget, I can have your head on a spike for treason in any instant I desire so. If you get murky, you better trust that will happen. My useless wife did not give you a sister to wed, but she did give me a spare at least. Now speak!“ His father's voice screeched at him and if Rhaegar were younger and more naive, more pliable and of a softer heart toward him, he would have been wounded.

 Instead he wasn't, he didn't feel anything at all. His head was surprisingly cool, his thoughts surprisingly rational. He wasn't talking to a man of whom he might have sought out confirmation as a young boy once, like every child looked to its parent, he was manipulating an old infirm mind.

„My King, I am afraid you were right. The Starks are conspiring against us.“

„Ahhh! I knew it, I will drag out each and every one of those stray wolves and burn them. They must all burn! Wildfire is the only medicine for those traitors. I will burn them all!“

Rhaegar winced at this. Even though this reaction was commonplace as anyone close enough to the Mad King would know. He shivered off the sliver of fear that came upon him, not for his own safety but for the little she-wolf who awaited him.

Steeling himself, he continued. „My King, if it please you, I have a different suggestion. As you know the North is spacious and wild, it is not easily corrupted. Losing the Starks might mean losing the Throne's power over the North. We should not risk that. Which is why I took the liberty and I...wedded Lyanna Stark.“

Searching his father's face for a reaction as he heard a faint gasp from the surprised Hand of King as well, the Prince had many expectations on his mind. The king would surely threaten his life and the life of the woman he loved. He might spit, curse, get upset enough for the Kingsguard to take him back to his chambers to calm down. Or they wouldn't just be empty threats.

His father's paranoid mind was predictable in some ways and unpredictable in others, but Rhaegar was not any less surprised knowing that when he heard mad laughter spread through out the great hall.

 „You wretched boy. You were never anything like me.“

_Thank the Gods for that._

„But you are like me in that matter. You sniffed around the she-wolf's skirts and you liked what you found. It did not matter to you, your useless Dornish wife or that the she-wolf bitch was betrothed. You just took what you wanted.“

Rhaegar's head fell down, anything his father could deem a compliment must have been a thing that would bring him shame. And thinking about the grains of truth behind his father's words, he very much felt shame. But they were no more than grains. _I had never taken her. She wanted to come with me._ A fast replay of all the words of affection, promises and goodbye with the promise of return, momentarily consoled him in his mind. Both of them did what they had to do.

Looking back up, he could see the amusement had not yet left the King's face. He silently sighed and the king continued, with a cruel sneer on his lips and a dry grip of his clawed hand on one of the armrests of the Iron Throne.

 „You know boy, I don't think I have ever spoken to you of this. But back when you were but a slip of a child around your mother's skirts, like your brother is now, I fell madly in love.“

It was odd to Rhaegar that his father had picked so appropriate of an adjective for himself. He shrugged off the strange thought.

„Joanna Lannister.“ The Mad King looked somewhere to the side like looking at a memory, his violet indigo eyes shining and blazing, quite in contrast to the tired skin of his face.

„She was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And were I not a coward and if I had taken what belonged to me, maybe she wouldn't have died birthing that abomination. I was weak son, afraid of what the world would think. But it seems you have no qualms about it. Very well, my boy, I approve. I will be more than proud to announce the Northern bitch birthing my son an ice-dragon. Now get out of my sight, I assume you have wedding arrangements to attend to. Send for your she-wolf and I'll make you a feast the Dornish and the rest of the realm will never forget.“

Noting the troubling expression upon his prince's face as his head jerked upward with worry, Jon Connington cut in.

„Excuse me, Your Grace, but I do not believe it is wise to let the whole realm know of the wedding just yet. The Dornish might be more than upset, they might take unfavorable action. It is certainly neither safe nor tasteful to bring Lyanna Stark to the capital while Princess Elia is present.“ Looking to Rhaegar who seemed to have found slight relief even if still awaiting the king's reaction, Jon decided his remark was well-placed.

The King seemed to consider this before he drawled mockingly in Rhaegar's direction. „Aye, my boy, keep your she-wolf away from the burning sun if you care for her. Your wife might be useless, but her brothers will find themselves insulted by her own incompetence.“

Rhaegar nodded his head but did not make a move to leave, knowing he had only won half the battle. He looked up again after a second, his dark indigo eyes shone with an unusual intensity as he did so.

„Excuse me, Your Grace but there's another matter I wish to speak to you about.“

„Then speak up boy!“

„About Rickard and Brandon Stark's imprisonment. I fear the news might reach disapproving ears. Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon are surely getting more impatient as the time goes. If I may be so bold, Your Grace, the only way to avoid a rebellion is to appease the North and calm the adjoining houses. And now that I am married to Lyanna, her father is of no threat to the Throne. They wouldn't dare knowing she is with me, and most of all, it wouldn't be in their interest.“

The King's eyes searched him mercilessly. „Do you know that brazen of her brother came here, yelled to my gates for you to come out and fight him? I'd do you a favor to rid him of his miserable, insolent life.“

Rhaegar took a shallow breath and continued quietly, his words measured.

„I am aware of that, but if I dare say, it was only to be expected, his sister was missing. I wish to beg for your forgiveness on his part. I've no interest in combat or revenge.“

It seemed the King contemplated this for a second. Rhaegar hoped for the slightest trace of rationality in the man, just enough to avoid a disaster.

„Very well.“ The king shrilled through his teeth, obviously not too thrilled about his own decision. It seemed his rational side had won out but his frantic, mad side wanted to come out and play. Rhaegar was sure his father's wrath would soon enough be displaced and innocent commoners would burn while the Mad King laughed, imagining he was indeed making a feast of the untouchable wolves instead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back so here's another chapter :) Let me know what you think!


	27. Of Spears and Pride

Moving her feet through the warm sand, Lyanna imagined it was the chill of the summer snow that creaked under her feet, feeling the heavy weight of hot air on her pale skin, she imagined it was a coldness of the Northern wind that numbed her senses. Closing her eyes, the murmur of salty sea water bathing the sandy beaches drifted to her ears, but Lyanna would rather have a fast, cold stream battle against the rocks of the North.

Instead of bearing heavy, suffocating heat of the unforgiving sun that forced her to don silk, Lyanna would rather freeze, seeking the warmth of furs, or even better, her loving dragon to warm her bones. 

Lyanna imagined, for the reality was too scary to dwell upon. The reality had her heart empty and aching, instead of filled with safety and comfort of home. Home, that Lyanna felt so far away from, and that distance was measured in more than miles. It had not been a mere place that Lyanna longed after, it had been her whole life she was forced to be parted with.  

None of it would be half-bad, and Lyanna would gladly bear her punishment of loneliness as well as her exile to hell if this was what all of it indeed was, had she only known those she cared for the most to be safe. But she didn't, she had no idea; Lyanna wondered if Brandon's heart was still beating and the only conclusion she could come to was uncertainty. It would smash her own heart into pieces, there was no doubt about it, if something were to happen to him.

Lyanna wondered had it happened yet; was her sanity on borrowed time until the next letter that fell to her hands, or until Rhaegar's return that might prove to be less than joyful, depending on the gravity of the news he bore.

For Rhaegar she worried, even if less so, for at least she had the comfort of knowing of his life's relevance to the entire realm that the monster of his father governed.  More than worried, Lyanna ached for his presence; she would count the days to his return if only she knew the limit to his absence. Even more, Lyanna itched to move herself, to run or ride until her lungs gave out and she fell exhausted toward her prince, but reason warned her more than once against attempting anything such.

She wasn't a child anymore, and her actions had greater consequences than a mere scold of a concerned and disappointed father. The fear that her own imprudence might serve to hurt those she loved the most, made her keep paralyzed in a limbo of sorts.

 What Lyanna had was time alone, even if her mind was at times distracted and her thoughts put at ease at least temporarily by the lone knight that exchanged his white armor for a less conspicuous attire, silently trailing in her wake.

Lyanna was certain she was a complete bore in her forlorn state, however she was a royal bore so Ser Oswell was vowed to keep with her, whether the knight found enjoyment in her company or not. He had offered to continue her sword lessons with humility of being a less than adequate replacement for Ser Arthur as well as any other man would be, and Lyanna accepted, knowing of the reasons behind his offer.

Lyanna indeed found the physical activity to have eased some of the strain on her nerves, and she was grateful for it as much as she was for the knight's general friendship that was extended to her.

Even now, Ser Oswell seemed insistent on not letting her drown in her own thoughts as his pace kept up with hers. „My princess, mayhap we should return to the tower. I fear that the prolonged walks might not be the best way of concealing your presence.“

„I have no fear of this place.“ Lyanna returned, then sighed softly. „What I fear is of a different kind entirely.“

Looking to the lady whose safety was entrusted to him, Oswell continued. „I understand your worry, my princess, but I also understand why you should not be filled with fear. Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur are two of the most capable and honorable men I have ever known; any promise the prince had made to my princess, he will keep it.“

„I fear this situation is not entirely dependant of him or me.“ Lyanna admitted with a hint of sadness in her husky voice. „Mayhap that is what scares me the most.“

„Either way, my princess, you need to be brave. Lowering your spirits will do you little good.“

Looking to the knight, Lyanna returned. „My father used to say that the only time one can be brave is when one is scared. But it seems to me there is no need or room for bravery in waiting, only fear. That might be what makes it so agonizing.“

„Your father sounds like a wise man.“ Ser Oswell voiced. Before he could expand on that thought, the knight felt his gaze drawn to the sandy horisont, seeing a couple of Dornish horsemen riding in their direction.

 With a more than small concern as Lyanna looked to him questioningly, Oswell decided that retreating would be void if they wished to not arouse suspicion, and the proper course of action was keeping in the place, and hopefully quelling any speculations the arriving patrol might have. Shortly after, he murmured his strategy to the princess, as he watched about three dozen of scantily dressed men approaching closer and closer.

Any hope of rushing away his princess unrecognized evaporated in his mind, when the knight noted just who it was in the lead of the horsemen. When he was addressed by his proper title and name in a smooth, accented voice, Ser Oswell could not deny the acquaintance to the Dornish Prince, nor doubt the malevolence in his approach.

Drawing his sword instantly, Oswell positioned himself protectively in front of his princess, ordering her harshly to run. Knowing what such a thing meant for her guard, Lyanna did not move an inch from her spot, even if it was still unclear to her just what kind of a danger it was that she and her knight companion had walked into.

Oswell's part frightened and part frustrated expression at the notion that the princess' safety had been compromised, had the darkhaired figure only offer a cocky smile.

„Ahh, Ser Oswell, it is truly a pleasure to see you again, even if I would never expect you guarding a lady other than my sister and nieces. I would not bother with the sword if I were you, you are a superior knight to likely every man present if he were by himself, but unfortunately for you, they are not.“

 Lyanna observed the unknown man; his dark eyes shone like two obsidian stones under thin, black eyebrows, and his attire of yellow and pale orange silk reminded of the sun-branded nature around him. A deep neck-cut revealed his olive-tanned chest as the young man occupied an elaborate posture, just with a hint of an overconfident sway. His hand held onto a long spear, one Lyanna knew he was unlikely to use, but it contributed to his brash attitude.

 „And my, what a lovely lady. And brave as well.“ The prince remarked slyly as his dark gaze fell upon and unpleasantly lingered on Lyanna who was still in part obscured by Oswell's protective presence.

„It seems Ser Oswell will not do the honors, so let me start by introducing myself first. I am Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne.“

„What is it that you wish of us, Prince Oberyn?“ Lyanna asked cooly as her grey eyes watched to the prince; she made her way slightly forward despite the fact Oswell's own eyes silently warned her against it. Attempting calmness, Lyanna was incessant in ignoring the unpleasant feeling burning in her gut.

„Despite of your initial impression of me, Lady Lyanna, I have no wish to harm you. My sole desire is to wish a welcome to a lady who had made such a long way from home in order to reside unrecognized in my own lands.“

„You know my name.“ Lyanna sighed, as if only now the full extent of severity of this situation had become revealed to her.

 „My lady.“ Ser Oswell strongly intoned, successfully transcending the message to Lyanna that while her name was known by these men, her status as royalty very well could not and should not be. „Do not fret, I will get you out of this situation safely, one way or another.“

„Now, now, no such thing will be necessary.“ The darkhaired figure remarked with a cunning sneer on his curled lips as he watched to Lyanna. „What kind of a host would I be if I were to allow such a lovely lady be harmed in my lands? I'll even be generous enough to allow your companion to retreat freely, surely he wishes to inform the beautiful Prince Rhaegar of this as soon as it is possible.“

„If you assume I will abandon the lady that had been entrusted to me, you are gravely mistaken.“ Ser Oswell replied firmly, making his way forward as his arm itched to wield his sharp weapon. The knight's deep stare pinned the prince, clearly with no inclination of surrender.

„As a member of the Kingsguard, should you not be my sister's side, guarding her and her children, Ser Oswell? Ahh, that is right, I forgot that a knight's fealty is with the prince first and with his family second, even if it is a mistress that you are asked to spend your time guarding.“

Lyanna swallowed with shame, shame she, by all accounts, should not be feeling. Rhaegar had sworn to be hers and she had sworn to be his, had she not? He gave himself to her willingly, and that was the only thing that rang important to her. She could not, and would not blame him, of something he had no control over. Had everyone else known another thing to be true?

Turning his dark, shining gaze to Lyanna, Oberyn continued. „Do not understand me wrong, Lady Lyanna, at this place we do not frown upon the matters of the heart. We do, however, frown upon disrespect. So, here is how I see this matter resolving. Ser Oswell can make his way out of this situation alive or dead, and if he is dead, only Gods know of how Prince Rhaegar will be informed that his fair Northern lady is in need of a rescue.“

„Go.“ Lyanna silently ordered as she turned to Oswell. The knight's brows rose and he was quick to protest. „My lady, I shan't abandon you...“

„Please go. I do not wish for you to die. I cannot bear for anyone else to get hurt because of me.“ Grey eyes glancing up to the Dornish prince briefly, Lyanna continued. „I will be well. He won't dare hurt me, you go and tell Rhaegar. Please.“

With a heavy heart, the knight nodded, not out of fear for his own life but for he feared Prince Oberyn would be daring enough to use the lady as a means of torturing his own prince. This was surely a political game, a display of power by the cocky Dornishman. Their princess had been set aside by Rhaegar, their pride had been injured. Oswell could understand even if he would never agree, for his deepest loyalties lay with the crown prince and no one would ever convince him otherwise.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we meet Oberyn. Surprise?


	28. Of Spears and Pride II

  „My lady, please.“ Oberyn offered with a polite smile as he gestured with his hand. Lyanna made her way through the heavy, rich doors with no small amount of discomfort. She itched to take her leave, to run as far and fast as she could, but she knew the moment her legs would move with speed, she would be caught by one of the numerous guards that drifted about the foreign, rich hallways.

The Red Viper, as she had heard her captor being referred to even if the moniker made little sense to her, had a greatly theatrical and coquettish presence that filled Lyanna with a sense of disconcert. Despite his reassuring words that his intentions were not directed at inflicting her harm, Lyanna suspected him of dishonesty even if her mind could not reach a reasonable conclusion of what could exactly be his true goal.    

Swallowing hard as she attempted making peace with her situation for the time being, Lyanna took a second to study the commodious, heavily adorned room separated by the doors from the halls that lead to the rest of the Sunspear castle.

Prince Oberyn trailed in her wake with a sway in his narrow hips adorned by a bronze belt, taking a seat at the nearby elaborate sofa decorated with embroidered, silk pillows. Lyanna kept her stand for a couple of moments longer, terribly uncomfortable and not sure she wanted to confine herself to a seat.

It seemed such a thing would not be accepted by the Dornish prince, for he motioned to the nearby chair as he reached to pour them both a cup of what seemed to be red wine. Lowering herself in her seat, Lyanna's grey eyes watched intently to the cup that was slowly extended to her over the table, and once she glanced up, she could see the prince's own dark gaze burning into hers.

 Noting the reluctance in her bright, wide eyes, Oberyn gave her a small smile. „Lady Lyanna, if I wished to poison you, I would have put my spear through your heart.“ He corroborated his words by grabbing the bronze cup from her delicate hand and taking a sip of the burgundy liquid himself.

„I did not think you would poison me.“ Lyanna assured, husky voice serious. Truly, she had no thought of the sort, even if it now occurred to her that she should have. Her reluctance could mostly be attributed to the general tension she perceived of the situation.

„Ahh.“ Oberyn gives a small nod as his chin leans against his free hand, which in turn is supported by an elbow against a knee. „Perhaps then, my lady, you do not enjoy the taste of wine, or 'tis a babe of dragonblood in your belly that makes you cautious of your drinks.“

 „I wouldn't say either of those things are true.“ Lyanna returned, as she took a sizable gulp from her goblet. The prince seemed pleased at this.

Lyanna did not truly care persuading him one way or another, but she found the drink to be welcome in soothing her ragged nerves. She hoped the prince's true inclinations would come to light sooner rather than later.

 „I myself have four natural daughters, my lady. Bastards, if you will. Children truly are a blessing, and so is the passion that breeds them. 'Tis a shame the rest of the world is not quite as accepting of them. Last names are one thing, and blood is another. Snow or Sand or Targaryen, we all bleed red.“

„I suppose that is true.“ Returned Lyanna as she played with her empty goblet and Oberyn took an opportunity to refill it. She knew her future children to be born with the Old Gods' blessings, therefore escaping the disapproval of society for their existence, even if she wouldn't care one way or another. Lyanna cared little of what those other than her family and Rhaegar thought. What she did care of was that any child she may have would be conceived of love.  

„I have to say I admire your spirit, my lady. And it is a shame, that such a beautiful, strong lady as you would soon be left in disgrace and to the mercy of piranhas that is our highborn society, all because her heart sang at the sight of a wrong man. It is even poetic, would you not say?“ Oberyn suddenly remarked with a lilt of flirtation, as his smoky gaze of a snake slowly moved over Lyanna's features.

Motioning with his hand, he continued. „I grew up knowing the value of love and freedom, alongside the one of family. Paramours and bastards are a common thing around this place, that is why the latter are named Sand. They are as often come upon as grains of sand in a desert are. I doubt I could say the same thing of the North. I assume your own father would rather have a different destiny for you, perhaps one that included being a Lady of Storm's End. Tell me, my lady, was that not something that appealed to you?“

„Robert Baratheon was someone who did not appeal to me. Not for marriage, anyway.“ Lyanna answered with honesty, seeing no reason to withhold such a thing under the circumstances.

„Of course.“ Returned the dark-haired prince with a smirk. „Out of many things I might be able to resent my royal good-brother, being less than an appealing man is not one of them. Many ladies vied for his attentions while he was the crown prince unmarried, probably any such lady of highborn standing and proper age. However, much in resemblance to the olden custom that joined the Dornish lands to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, a Martell was chosen to marry a Targaryen. It might not have been Prince Rhaegar's choice, but it had become his duty.“

„Why are you telling me this?“ Asked Lyanna with a small bite to her lip, as she watched to the dark-haired prince.

Oberyn took a small breath before he inquired. „Does it injure your sensibilities, my lady? If it is so, it is understandable and I beg your forgiveness; my intentions are not of such sort. I just thought you might wish to know of such a thing and how it happened, considering it did come to concern you.“

„I am not insulted by truth, merely curious why you would think such a thing escaped me.“ Lyanna assured softly, as her eyes fell to her lap. With a small gulp in her throat, she continued, stronger. „Rhaegar had completed his princely duty, he gave the realm an heir and Princess Elia a son. If you are under the impression I have ambitions tied to her position, you are mistaken. I only wish for his love and I know that is something that cannot be laid claim to against his will.“

Prince Oberyn seemed to have smiled at this, the first semblance of fire from the lady that was all ice. „Your naivety is charming, my lady, but misplaced considering your position. You have been laid in a literal pit of vipers by your lover with minimal protection, and it is only with luck and my mercy that you are still breathing. Would such a thing be worth dying for?“

 _Yes_ , Lyanna wanted to instantly tell him, but didn't. Perhaps he was right, perhaps this man who had no reason to have her best interests in mind was the needed voice of reason her head lacked. But Lyanna always felt an inextricable tie between who she was and what she felt, much stronger than the link of who she was and what she thought would ever be. Wolfsblood - her father called it, the blood of the First Men seemed to boil more strongly in her veins and that of Brandon then their other siblings, which was much reflected by their current positions.

„I notice a certain wildness in you, my lady, a sort of restlessness.“ Claimed the prince as his dark eyes intently studied her, as if he read her mind. „And, despite the circumstances of our acquainting, I find you rather charming and would hate to see you burn out in a hue of either dragonbreath or your own flame. Those who lay with the dragon, often wake up in form of charred remains, on a pile of ashes. You might wonder of my motivation for bringing you here, speaking to you, and the truth is, 'tis nothing more than a brother's concern.“

Narrowing his shining eyes as he studied Lyanna's unsettled expression for a moment, prince Oberyn rose from his seat, and moved toward the heavily curtained window. Deeper in thought, he continued in a gentler voice as he gazed before himself.

„My sister, Elia, is not like you, my lady. Not in the slightest. 'Tis curious, as if Prince Rhaegar searched through all of the kingdoms for a woman who would be his wife's complete opposite, until he found you, the wild child-woman of the North.“

With a soft smile on his dark features, as if his obsidian eyes gazed at a memory, Oberyn continued. „Even when we were young, Elia had a sort of a calmness around her, temperance and grace with which she carried herself. Her voice was never raised even if her replies were never anything less than sharp. As such, she was often seen as forgettable and easily managed, if such a thing need be. Unlike me, as I'm sure you can imagine. So, it should not surprise that I would seek to protect her, even with both of us well into adult age.“

„Princess Elia is lucky to have such a brother as you.“ Lyanna remarked sincerely, very well understanding the feeling. There was little in the world that could compare to a bond between siblings. Losing one would feel as a loss of a limb to her.

Looking down to her lap, she continued. „You might claim 'tis naivety, but I believe you have no need for concern on her behalf. Not from me, anyway. Rhaegar would never allow innocents to suffer on his account.“

„The man you love might or might not be the man you believe him to be, Lady Lyanna.“ Remarked Oberyn in a soft, accented voice, not shifting his gaze to her. „For both of your sakes, I too hope that it is so. Protection can be an insistent thing, but revenge even more so.“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any impressions? :)


	29. Fathers II

The resonant clack of white armor could be heard behind them as Rickard and Brandon Stark made their way out of the dark dungeon confinements and to the breath of fresh air. Looking down to his clothes covered in dust and grime, Lord Rickard could only silently sigh in relief.

It seemed he wasn't wrong to put his trust in the prince, for this must have been his doing even from afar. Being locked out of their chains, they were told the Mad King's mercy was being extended to them, but Lord of Winterfell knew that the Mad King had no mercy. Hopefully another, younger and of fairer mind would come into his place soon.

The grass shuffled under their boots and the sun shone violently blinding them, surely with more brightness than their tired eyes have met altogether locked up in a cell for the last fortnight. They haven't spoken for the silent white shadows of Sers Gerold Hightower and Lewyn Martell trailed in their wake, and a half of dozen other guards walked ahead and alongside them. Having been escorted to the Tower of the Hand, where they were to reside as the King's guests although it wasn't lost on them they were no more than hostages, they found an unexpected but intriguing figure waiting for their arrival.

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the only reason North wasn't in full blown rebellion right now.

„Where is my sister?“ Were the immediate words out of Brandon Stark's mouth as his eyes fell on the dragon prince, the sentence spoken with impatience and desperation. His father put a hand on his shoulder, silently counseling him to keep his temper. His father's soothing attempt only made more panic spring inside him.

Brandon internally cursed the gods; these spoiled, self-important Targaryens, did this prince think he had a claim on his sister, his own flesh and blood? Being locked up, Brandon Stark had thought of two moments a million times over, the fantasies replaying, keeping his fire burning inside him even after his fists have gotten tired of battling the wall and his voice had given out. One moment would be the one in which he would embrace his sister and his face would get lost in her curly hair as he spun her around, and the other would be his fist meeting Rhaegar Targaryen's face. Brandon had never held a special affection for the Targaryens, not for the king, and not for the prince, who he with first impressions thought far too spoiled and polished to be a man worthy of respect. Princes were taught they could have whichever they wanted. And now this prince felt entitled to his sister.

Although his father tried persuading him, telling him the Prince's intentions were noble during the short occasions in which they felt able to speak freely, Brandon knew their father was not there to witness Harrenhal.

He wasn't the one who'd seen everything, from the mist in Lyanna's eyes as the prince played her heart as he played the silver harp, to the moment a crown of blue roses fell into Lyanna's lap; that was another shameless thing the prince had caused with no regard for the consequences.

When it seemed Rhaegar didn't answer for an eternity, Brandon's voice rose and his form strutted further toward the Prince, almost towering over him. The two Kingsguards had already moved to restrain him, but Rhaegar looked at them, clearly commanding them to a halt. That wasn't the way to handle this situation.

„I asked you a question. Where is she? Hmm. Where are you keeping her? Have you tarnished her honor yet, you despicable...“

„Brandon.“ His father's alarmed voice interrupted him as his hand held its firm grasp like brass on his forearm, clearly fearing Brandon was about to let this grow into a physical confrontation. And judging by his reddened face and flaming eyes, that assumption was not far fetched at all.

„My lord, it is fine.“ Rhaegar reassured, slowly putting up a hand, hoping that his seemingly relaxed behavior would ease the tension. He had no real fear of the wild wolf, and he understood his reaction. Gods only knew how Rhaegar himself would react if he had any reason to think Lyanna was in danger. Brandon's deep devotion to his sister was something he had found respectable. He had only hoped his good-brother would in time find _something_ to like about him, for it was obvious to him that wasn't the case right now.

He didn't have to fear his muscles, the mere fact Lyanna loved her brothers so much made Rhaegar feel weirdly compelled to try to get on the good side of his wife's family. Before he continued, he dismissed the two members of the Kingsguard in whom he wasn't sure he could put his full trust just yet.

„My lords, I deeply apologize for my father's behavior. Had the situation depended on me, this never would have happened. I acted as soon as the information reached my ears.“ Rhaegar sighed. „ As for your question, Lord Brandon, your sister is safe, I can promise you that. She is not in King's Landing right now...“

„Then where is she? And don't tell me that, don't promise me anything. I don't trust you. You're a dragon just like your father! You took my sister, why should I trust you? And you father, why do you trust him? Are you not worried about your daughter? Huh?“

That was something that had weighed on Brandon's mind since the moment he saw his father shackled, ready to join him in the dungeon cells. Why hadn't he done more? Why did he let his daughter just disappear? But the walls had ears, and he was unable to exchange anything more than empty bored words with his father while they bid their time.

Lord Rickard just sighed. „Brandon, you shouldn't speak that way. Your sister is safe as she can be...our prince took her under his protection.“

„What? What is he talking about?“ Brandon's eyes turned back to the Prince in an accusatory stare as he yelled, just when Rhaegar started feeling relief that he was being forgotten about.

Taking a small breath, Rhaegar returned. „I did not act on my own volition. The fact of the matter is, an unfortunate information had reached my ears. One that my father had sent for Lady Lyanna to be imprisoned. I acted, in order to avoid it. The truth is, your sister would have disappeared that day, one way or the other.“

„That doesn't make sense, why would he want her imprisoned?“ Asked Brandon harshly as his dark eyes slitted. „She is but a maid of five-and-ten, what could she possibly have done...“

„At Harrenhal.“ Rhaegar swallowed, blinking before he continued. „As you can recall, I awarded your sister at the tourney.“

„I bet you're truly proud of that.“ Returns Brandon sardonically, not able to help himself.

„I awarded her for her own participance in the tourney, my lord. Which became known to me, after I was sent after an offender.“ Explained Rhaegar in a slightly raised voice. This seemed to have captured Brandon's attention.

„The mystery knight...“ Murmures Brandon, disbelieving. How blind had he truly been?

„Unfortunately, the king read into it more than what it truly meant. Which is why I had to take action, to protect her.“ Turning to Lord Rickard, Rhaegar continued softly, not sure what the true impact of the impending information would be.  

 „I have wedded your daughter, my lord. It needed to be done, in order to protect her, and in order for this incident to pass without bloodshed. 'Twas not the way I wanted it, and I regret I didn't have an opportunity to ask for her hand properly. I only had an opportunity to inform you by a letter, that Lady Lyanna is indeed safe with me.“

At that, Brandon looked to his father incredulously. Taking in his expression, Rhaegar held his breath. He had already received one bizarre reaction to such news. This time, it seemed there was no distinct reaction. Lord Rickard sighs after a couple of impossibly tense moments.

„I wish I could say I was surprised. You made your interest public, and hers had become clear to me when I searched her chambers, after I've gotten your letter.“

 „How is it so, my lord?“ Rhaegar prompted softly after a moment, he had no idea what the man spoke of. Brandon was equally confused , lost in abundance of new information.

„Lyanna kept...some of your past correspondence. Alongside the remnants of her crown. I would be a fool to not understand its meaning.“

 _Which correspondence_ , Rhaegar found himself wondering. Then, he remembered the note he'd left for her at Harrenhal. _She kept it..._ Brandon's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

„So, what you are saying, is that you two are married and that she is safe?“ Brandon asked, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Rhaegar just sighed.

„You will be able to see her as soon as the situation calms, right now she is safe in Dorne. She has written you, my lord.“ Rhaegar finished and handed over a roll of paper to Rickard. The lord of Winterfell just nodded and received the letter without a word.

Brandon gritted his teeth, letting that information sink in. He felt his anger subsiding and a sort of a wonderment took over. He knew of his sister's feelings toward the prince and the more he thought about it, the more he was stunned thinking she got her own way. Even if Brandon still didn't like this, not in the slightest, the prince's words rang honest and he felt oddly placated by the news.

The truth was he feared something else entirely, that his sister's impulsiveness and wild heart would lead her to do something she would regret, something that could ruin her life. _At least she had the good sense to be wed first._ The only person wounded in all this chaos would be Robert Baratheon...

* * *

 

„How did it go? With the Starks?“ Asked the Hand of King, as he caught step with the crown prince in the otherwise almost abandoned hallway of the Maidenvault.

„It was odd.“ Rhaegar returned with a small frown on his features. „It could have been worse.“ he added with a sigh. _They could have all been dead._ He had to get a message of it to Lyanna, as soon as he could. She was more than likely sick with worry.

„Listen Jon, I wanted to thank you.“ Rhaegar claimed, remembering a moment from this morning as he considered everything that had transpired. Jon's face showed he wasn't aware of what it was that was cause for the gratitude.

„About this morning in the throne room. For your support before the king.“

 „Of course, my prince.“ Jon tilted his head as his legs worked to move him. „'Tis nothing to be mentioned. My loyalty is with you and your desires are my own. I do have to say, the fallout with Dorne...“

„I am aware of it.“ Rhaegar lowered his head with a hint of shame as his deep indigo eyes searched the marble pavement before him. „I have to say, I am not without fault. But what was I supposed to do? At the very least Elia will personally learn of this from me, I intend to speak to her this very day. Her desires and the needs of our children will be taken into account, I will see to it.“

„What if she wishes to stay?“ Jon asked, a deep frown on his features. „Your best option is sending her to Dragonstone.“

„If she wishes to stay, which I doubt she does, then she will do so. I won't force her to anything, I have no right.“

„You are her husband, you are the crown prince. You have every right!“ Jon returned harshly. „She is the one who can't bear you anymore children, it is her duty that cannot be completed...“

„That is not why I am doing this, Jon.“ Rhaegar shook his head. Was that what everyone else thought? Was that why this seemed acceptable? Rhaegar wanted to shout from the rooftops that he loved her, he wondered what his allies would think of that. „And it is not an excuse.“ the prince softly added after a moment.

„I have to say, my prince, your guilt is misplaced...“ Just as Jon thought to expand on it, the unsettled look on the approaching knight's face pulled both men to a falt.

„My prince, grave news.“ Ser Arthur claimed, as he approached in clack of white armor.

 


	30. Under the Burning Sun

The last three days, Lyanna had spent confined to a spacious, heavily adorned bedchamber which had been assigned as her place of stay until Rhaegar was to reemerge in Dorne. She wished she could say the appearance of commodity did anything to take her mind of the fact that she was indeed a prisoner.The sandy Southron lands that she didn't belong in had turned from her place of love and joy, to a place of captivity and despair. The former was the way she wished to remember it.

 As her head leaned against the cool, unfamiliar pillow, Lyanna forced her mind return to fonder musings, scared of where her own thoughts might take her otherwise. She did not know a different way to battle the heavy feeling in her chest.

_„Do you know why this place is called the Tower of Joy?“ He asks, as he sets his harp aside. Lyanna shakes her head left and right as a wolfish smile springs to her lips, the motion splattering her short dark curls over the pillows she is leaned against._

_„I could only take a guess.“ She replies in a faint, breathless voice._

_When his weight settles on the bed beside her, her small fingers move to twine in the untugged laces of his tunic. Her eyes are on his, serious for a moment. The things she sees there, make her warm and cool all at once. A bright sound of a laugh escapes her lips as his hands lock to her hips, and move her down in the sheets like she weighs no more than a piece of paper. She might not weigh much, but she is fast._

_Her body is in a second over his, her small pale hands holding, pinning his wrists to her sheets, as if she needs the force to keep him there. She wants to sink her fangs into his soft lips, but she holds back for an instant. He could fight her for it, but the look in his eyes says he doesn't want to._

_„Why?“ She whispers against his lips, and when he raises his head in an effort to kiss her own, she pulls back. It makes a small flash of amusement pass behind his indigo eyes.When she leans to nuzzle against his cheek, his fingers brush away her curls from her neck. He murmurs into the soft skin there._

_„Because it is only you and I. No one else.“_

It was only her now, Lyanna thought as she recalled with longing, her mind's eye staring at a not long ago forged memory. The indecisiveness and unfamiliarity of the situation she was confined to numbed her spirit, even if she wasn't in physical danger. She could have been in chains, Lyanna thought, she could have been killed by people who could have easily decided she was more trouble than she was worth.

Thinking of chains reminded her of Brandon, and saddened her all over again. She had no doubts his volatile personality shone through given the circumstances, there was only one way a caged wolf could be expected to behave. Those thoughts ran through her mind a countless number of times already, so much they didn't even seem like cohesive thoughts anymore. Her own well-being was the last of the things she was concerning herself with.

And yet, there was this ugly, strange feeling permeating her insides, that even in the agonizing silence and calm she was confined to, something was not quite right.

What was the purpose of all of this, she briefly wondered. The conversation she lead with prince Oberyn raised more questions than it answered. Was all of this only a very elaborate warning, one made to Rhaegar and not to her like the Dornish prince implied? It seemed to be one that took a disproportionately great effort, then.

 Lyanna dreaded the courtly games that had only begun to surround her, she had a feeling. Why couldn't have she and Rhaegar been born on the other side of the Wall, she wondered. They could have met in the simplest of ways, fall in love chasing each other through the pale snow. He could play the harp (if there was such a thing beyond the Wall) and do all those things he wishes to do, but doesn't have the time to. She could be one of those spearwives that claim all their power with a bow and arrow, and come home every day with prey so they wouldn't starve before they would warm beneath the furs, enraptured in each other. They might have a babe, more than one possibly, and she would curse him for tasking her with such incessant creatures. That was, until she looked at them and her heart would grow fuller with every trace of him she could find in them. It had been a nice little scene her head found satisfaction in, however, further from reality with every bit of it.

Lyanna learned that people on this side of the Wall, more often than not considered her life to belong less to her, and more to her father, or her supposed husband, and in the end, the king. If she were at any time out of bounds in her behavior, the second closest person to her would be in the line of punishment, responding for her own follies. Wanting to avoid harm to those that she most loved, Lyanna had to learn to restrain herself when it was the last of things that she ever wanted to do.

It had been a haunting, infuriating thought that made flames crawl within her; _it wasn't right_. It had been the subtle implication she felt every time Robert would look her way and she would not return his affections. He watched to her with a dirty look when her behavior did not please, one that said _bad wolf_. There would be no more of that, she thought with relief, that had been a danger she ridded herself of. But at what cost?

If something truly were to happen to her father or brother, would it be her folly, her mistake, her responsibility? Or would it be the king's? Either way, Lyanna did not think she would survive it.

Feeling her throat dry and her skin flush with a sudden wave of heat that promised she wouldn't find sleep any time soon, Lyanna righted herself in the bed, letting her legs carry up her slight form enveloped in a thin shift. Looking around for her clothing, she catches cake and fruit with a corner of her eye, both things that her stomach was far too unsettled to consider craving.

A cool trail of water down her throat was what she desired, but such a thing was nowhere to be found, it seemed. Considering to set on a search of it, Lyanna made her way to the wide, wooden doors that lead to the rest of the Sunspear castle as she pulled the grey dress over her head and fixed the laces on the back of it.

Thinking there would surely be a guard at her door, Lyanna had a plead at the tip of her tongue. Despite of it, swinging open the wide wing of the door, she realized that she was wrong in her assumption.

The hallway before her was empty and the small steps she reluctantly chose to take resounded loudly in the dimly lit space. Making her way forward, almost on the toes of her sturdy dark boots which made it a harder task, Lyanna crunched up the silk fabric of her dress in her hands as her brow furrowed.

The initial motivation and desire forgotten, Lyanna considered the faint voices that now occupied her mind. At first, she thought herself imagining, but the more she moved forward, the more clearly she heard them. It is two voices, men's. Lyanna thought one of them to be a familiar sound.

Edging closer to a corner, her front leaned against the wall whose surface felt rough under her gentle hands. Bracing herself for the possibility there were guards by the doors of the room where the faint conversation was taking place, Lyanna snuck a peak. Her body relaxed and her grip on her own dress lessened as she found it wasn't so.

The murmured sounds in the dead of night piqued her curiosity; judging by her perception of the voices, it was prince Oberyn having a conversation with another figure most certainly unknown to her, this late. The frown on her forehead became even more pronounced when she thought she heard her own name. _What were these men speaking of?_ Coming closer with care, Lyanna tried so hard to concentrate, hear the sounds beyond the one of her own breath.

„It is not right.“ She heard Prince Oberyn's voice, faint.

The other man replied, his voice quiet but pronounced. „There is nothing right about this. We can act now, or we can wait until this is a true problem. He is an heir now, but what will happen when she births him a son?“

 _An heir? Whose heir?_ Lyanna mused. Snapping her ears back to concentration is Oberyn's reply.

„The son will be a younger bastard. There is no doubt there.“

„And what if he legitimizes him, or marries her? He very well can. He might have done so already.“ The unfamiliar voice posed the question.

A small gasp tore from Lyanna in surprise as a realization came upon her, one that she successfully quelled at the fear of being discovered.They were talking about her and Rhaegar, not even knowing how close to the truth they were, Lyanna thought with growing discomfort. _There is nothing right about this..._

„Then the child will be a younger heir. Younger, however.“ Oberyn emphasized.

„It is not enough.“ The voice returned. „It is a risk. What if they decide to get rid of him?“

„You mean like you are, now?“ Oberyn asks in a higher voice, with slight mock. Lyanna felt her body become stiff with apprehension, still listening.

„This is not up for discussion. You did what I asked you to do, that was enough.“

„I didn't know you intended to...“ Oberyn's voice protested. However, he was cut off before he could finish.

„We cannot take that risk. Once the crown prince enters our lands, he must not return from them.“

 _Oh Gods, Rhaegar._ Lyanna quietly spun around with force, her back against the rough wall. Her hand flew to her belly, she felt nauseous with panic. _They were planning to kill him._ It all made sense now, everything. She wasn't here for a warning, she was here as bait. And she played right into their hand...she herself told Oswell to send for him. They made her call him right into his death. All of it, it was a trap.

She had to do something about this...she had to warn him. But how could she do so, entrapped here? Lyanna turned quickly, removing herself away from the sounds of the conversation. Trying with all her might to not make a slightest sound, neither in her movements nor in the form of a heavy sob that threatened to escape her, she walked and walked silently, it seemed like an eternity.

Hurriedly reaching the bedchamber assigned to her, Lyanna quietly shut the door and leaned against them, her eyes shutting with pain. _Oh Gods, please don't let him die._

Blinking, she thought -  _Nay, it wasn't good enough._ These men, they had serious intentions of hurting him. How could she bear it to sit here, await the news of his death? That was if she wasn't put to a sword first. Oh, what she wanted was to run down those hallways, run, run, run. But she knew that even if the nearby halls were void, she would undoubtedly cross paths with a guard if she were to seek escape.Then her captors, the conspirators that wanted to kill her prince would be warned and her only chance of stopping this would be ruined.

 Her legs quickly breaching the distance across the room toward the windows, Lyanna's hands desperately gripped to the iron bars that denied her exit. Shaking her slight form against them in frustration, Lyanna felt a slight movement at the base. Her grey eyes cast down in the darkness only broken by the glimpse of moonlight, her hands frantically trying to repeat the movement of the embedded obstacle. _No, there was no other way out..._ How could she do it?

 _My will is iron._ she thought as her eyes pressingly searched about the room. She needed some type of tool, some weapon that would allow her to breach her cage. And yet, desperately taking in her surroundings, she found nothing sharper than a butter knife.

She needed to approach the bars with great force, edge them out of their stony socket. But how could she possibly produce such a force? Looking about the window, trying to find mayhap another flaw in its design, Lyanna noted an iron bar secured in the wall, right above her head. If she were to jump, she could get a hold of it, she was certain.

Her head blasting with a plan of which she had no idea if it would prove fruitful, Lyanna used the bottom of the window as a stepping stone as her arms rose up and her hands grabbed firmly onto the metal bar. Taking a small breath, Lyanna concentrated all her strength in her upper muscles as she claimed momentum, letting her sturdy boots thump against the vulnerable place in the bars' structure. The sound was concerningly loud, and she felt a painful vibration all the way up to her ankles, but the iron bars still held their place.

Angry, frustrated, and determined, ignoring the throbbing hurt she felt, Lyanna did it again. And then again. She did not know how many times she did it, what she knew was that her arms ached and her soul felt like it was splitting in half with desperation. _I have to, I have to warm him._ It hurt but she did not stop, she would never stop.

With a final impactful crash, losing her balance slightly as her obstacle abruptly ceased providing resistance, Lyanna could only sigh with temporary relief at the small victory.


	31. Under the Shining Moon

Lyanna did not know for how long she'd walked, she wasn't even certain she'd been moving in her desired direction. Sneaking out of the castle perimeter had been a more challenging task with every roaming guard, one that she was sure she only successfully competed because her absence had not been noted timely.

Now, after escaping the initial danger, Lyanna could be found battling through the tall, foreign vegetation that mercilessly scratched at the skin of her arms and littered her hair with small branches and leaves. The heavy darkness enveloping her did not make it an easier task. There existed a better route, surely, but such a thing meant a higher risk of being intercepted by men who would undoubtedly aim to bring her back, even by force if it need be.

Listening intently since any visual information around her seemed useless, Lyanna willed the dead silence around her be broken by something other than the incessant sound of insects that surrounded her. The shore was what she needed to reach, the gentle hum of salty sea water against the rocks was the sound that she anticipated; it would be a sign that she was close. Instead, her boots trudged and trudged through the hard dirt that lost all of its humidity to the insistent noon sun.  

Her gaze lifting as she came to a halt in her monotonous task, shortly searching for breath, Lyanna looked to the darkened sky above her, sparsely adorned by the shiny specks of stars. Beyond making a beautiful sight, the stars did not speak to her. Lyanna thought herself in need of a sign, she needed guidance.

If she were a literal fierce animal of the North, a true she-wolf, she would faithfully sink her long muzzle into the ground and let the faint traces and smells lead her. In her human form, Lyanna only had her own instincts to rely on but it would have to be enough.

  _Oh Gods, please just let me find him._ Lyanna's already tiring legs moved once more over the unwelcoming, harsh terrain. Her best guess was that in the case he received information of her being a captive of the Dornish prince, Rhaegar would look to a galley for transportation from King's Landing. Depending on the time of his departure and accuracy of her predictions, his arrival might fall anywhere from tonight to as much as be delayed by two days.

It wouldn't matter; she would be there waiting for him, thirsty, exhausted, and hungry in hiding, but she would see him arrive. She would run to him, she would hug him, bury her nose into his neck and twine her fingers into his soft silver tresses. Then, she would warn him of this wicked plan that had been forged by the vipers, with the intent of hurting him.

The fact that Rhaegar might have grave news of his own to share, did not escape her. It was useless to concentrate on things she had no control of, she decided. This, however, wasn't one of them.

Her limbs continuously battling through the sharp greenness that still seemed intent on bleeding her dry, with every scab and cut, Lyanna felt her frustration growing and her spirits dwindling at the thought there truly was no end to this path of hers. Failure meant a truly scary thing, one that Lyanna did not wish to dwell upon. She had to keep her step, she had to be patient.

Could she have been going in circles without being aware of it, she then wondered? Her father used to say that one that moved without a fixed orientation for prolonged periods of time, might find oneself at the same spot where one's journey began. Then again, looking to the stars, it seemed to her she had definitely made progress.

Before she had time to completely drive herself crazy, Lyanna's ears perked up at the sound she so desired to hear. She might have imagined it, she thought, but approaching closer and closer, she clearly heard the long awaited murmur of sea water. A sweet grin sprung to her lips; she made it through to the other side.

Chasing away the last couple feet that divided her from the sea shore, Lyanna took a deep breath as she felt an unobstructed breeze against her cheeks and her eyes took in the dark sea surface, only disturbed by the winds.

Picking up her step once more, feeling countless times lighter with only air to overcome, Lyanna suppressed the urge to turn about herself and laugh as she walked briskly in line with the endless water. Her surroundings seemed abandoned enough, but in case her disappearance was discovered, she had to be wary of men possibly sent in pursuit of her.

With that thought, she edged closer to the tall bushes that ran alongside the shore, hoping their proximity might obfuscate her from any unwanted eyes.

A small animal, of whose kind Lyanna was not quite sure in the darkness, distracted her as it ran past her feet.

„What are you running from, little one?“ She asked softly even when no answer could be expected. It amused her, but the lightheartedness was driven away as quickly as it had sprung when she found herself face to face with a ragged, tall man whose face held dirt in the moonlight as he hunched over her. The man's eyes shone with a wickedness and she could already feel the stench his unclean body gave off.

Startled by his horribly frightening presence, Lyanna took a step back, desperately wishing for a weapon to defend herself. She hadn't her dagger with her, it was left at the Tower of Joy. If only she had known how much she would need it...

Without a better option, she turned to run, but the man was fast in clawing his hand stiffly around her wrist, spinning her back.

Then, she felt an abrupt, sharp pain behind her neck, one whose cause became clear to her after she saw her mother's pendant shining on the ground beneath her feet, the broken chain hanging from it. She hoped, begged the Gods that would serve as a sufficient distraction, but the man's incessant gaze on her proved her wrong.

„Aren't you a pretty one?“ The ragged man growled, his mouth full of stained teeth as his lips curled into a crooked sneer. His hold still strong around her arm while another suddenly wielded a shiny, sharp blade whose blast against the moonlight had Lyanna's grey eyes widen. Nay, she couldn't be scared... _The only time you can be brave is when you are scared._

Trying to ignore the frightening thought of the weapon slicing through her flesh, Lyanna struggled and shouted for him to let go; without a thought, she kicked him hard in the groin and the grip lessened enough for her to rip away and run for a second time...

It had been beyond frustrating and it made her eyes line with tears, when in all her fear and eagerness to get away, she tripped over a rock and felt herself falling. That thought was suddenly replaced with an overwhelming, unbearable dull ache in the back of her skull. Oh, her head hurt so bad and she could feel her ears ringing with almost unbearable vibrations.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, seeing only a dark blur before her, Lyanna wasn't sure if she had indeed done so. Even with everything hazy, in the next instant it became horrifyingly clear to her she had become trapped under his body weight. _Don't fall asleep, you can't fall asleep..._

Moving, countering the sleepiness that threatened to overwhelm, Lyanna struggled wildly even if dizzyingly disoriented; her hands reached to painfully scratch at his face but he was quick in restraining her. He held her down with both his hands, he must have dropped the dagger...

 „And a rich one as well. That is a nice dress you have there.“ She could hear him drawl as she struggled with a fierceness, with all her might to somehow free herself, to end this iron hold he had on her. Then, his knee wedged between her thighs. He was going to hurt her... _No, he can't touch me, he won't touch me._

Her panic growing as one of his hands lessened a hold on her arm and she felt the disgust of his touch on her ankle and up, Lyanna desperately let the fingers of her free hand edge over the surface under them, begging the Gods what she looked for was within her reach.

When his grimacing face flashed back over hers in the next instant, his eyes blazing with lustful anticipation that had her stomach turn, Lyanna's mind went blank. All she could register in the next moment was a blur of blood splattering from his neck as his lifeless body fell beside hers on the ground.

Still in immense shock and fright, looking through a haze at what she'd done, Lyanna stumbled as she crawled and then righted herself up on shaky legs to leave, she had to leave as quickly as possible. She had to get away... what had she done? Looking down to her hands trembling with horror, there was blood on her hands, there was blood on her clothes...

Her mind slurring and her posture doing much of the same as she tried to control her shifting weight on unstable legs, Lyanna sobbed.

Finally falling on her knees what to her seemed to be miles away, she moved to lean the side of her body against the ground, letting her head fall down. All she wanted was to sleep...

 

_To be continued..._

_  
_


	32. Under the Shining Moon II

Hearing the murmur of sea water left behind him as he shifted his weight on the firm surface of the moonlit dock, Rhaegar took a small moment to decide their arrival had only been greeted by the dead of night. _It had been for the better_ , he thought, mayhap his arrival might be as unpleasant of a surprise for the Dornish prince as these news reaching him had been for himself.

As he kept walking, posture straight alongside the men accompanying him, Rhaegar found himself once again silently burning with anger. The flames kindling inside him were an incessant thing, one that did not seem to subside even given the past few days which the conditions of the travel claimed.

It had been a partly unfamiliar feeling to the prince, at least in the sense that he couldn't claim he felt possessed by it often. He had always been told of, even commended on his even temper and level-headedness that many of the men surrounding him often lacked, the most prominent one being his father. Mayhap the example of a burning anger so extreme, that it had to be accompanied by literal flames was what even in the early days showed Rhaegar the ugliness of the feeling.

And yet, despite being a man with a dislike for violence, Rhaegar found that the idea of slaying through an entire army, if that would mean he would reach her, caused relief in him.

The initial emotion that gripped around his heart in the wake of news, however, was no burning anger but excruciating fear. His friend's firm claims that, under no circumstances, the Martells would find causing harm to Lyanna to be an option, made sense to his head, but less to his heart. 

According to Arthur's words, this had been a warning and not much else, it was a thing unlikely to end with any grave consequences. And yet, grave consequences were all Rhaegar could think about. If there were only a hair out of place on her head, he would make sure the men responsible for it would pay, he firmly decided.

This entire matter sickened him even more on another level; she had been innocent while he'd been the one whose actions caused all these justly and unjustly perceived slights. And still, these men used her as means of harming him. It enraged him to think that his enemies and allies alike might come to seeing her as nothing more than his weak spot.

„My prince, blood.“ Ser Arthur's voice snapped his head back and Rhaegar frowned at the comment. Approaching the place that the knight briefly got distracted by, his own eyes could note a faint crimson trail in the sandy ground. Not taking any chances, Ser Arthur turned and issued a command. The additional force of men that have been tasked with providing security to the prince alarmed in lookout of the shore, wary of a threat. 

„It could be a trace from a wild animal hunting.“ Rhaegar offered, not seeing a reason to suspect otherwise. Or at the very least he didn't, until he noted a moveless human limb on the ground hiding in a nearby shade.

Quickly crouching, Rhaegar could see that the scene before him was no act of a wild animal. The brightly red-stained puncture wound on the dead man's neck seemed to have stopped pumping out blood a while ago. As Ser Arthur joined behind him, holding a retrieved bloodied dagger to match the wound, Rhaegar was about to stand up but then...

 _Nay, it was impossible._ It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the shine of the moonlight lying about the shiny object he'd retrieved from the ground, now turning it in his hand.

 _Her mother's pendant..._ There was no doubt about it; it hadn't been a mere trinket, but a true, unique jewel that he'd seen countless times around her pale neck. Feeling his lungs were too tight to draw breath, Rhaegar felt a panic that the previous one faded in comparison to. _Lyanna..._

„Arthur, we must search for her!“ He found himself desperately yelling as he frantically rose from the ground and moved his legs with speed until he reached that first trail he'd seen. With a worried, unsure frown in his brow, Ser Arthur inquired as he approached as well.

„Who, my prince? You mean the princess? 'Tis highly unlikely...“

„Then how did this get in here?“ The prince desperately insisted as he held up the valuable chain. It did not seem his friend had a reaction of recognition from afar.

The prince however, hadn't the patience to be questioned. „Arthur, send all men to search our surroundings for her, now! This is her pendant, there's likely only one like this in the world. I know it is hers. Now!“ He yelled and Ser Arthur nodded curtly, swiftly setting upon his task.

Frantically turning from the fixation that was the trail of blood before his eyes, feeling a horrible weight in his chest, Rhaegar observed the men who hurriedly dispersed under the scarce shine of the moon.

„You, go that way. I'll move in the other direction.“ He commanded Arthur, already moving with decisiveness. The knight was just about to protest leaving his prince unprotected but Rhaegar cut him off in a voice that left no room for challenging. „Do it! I can look out for myself.“

Painfully sighing as he ran his hand over his face, Rhaegar had a single thing in his mind, a prayer. _Please let her be well. Let her be alive._ He wasn't sure at whom that prayer was directed, at the gods Old and New or at the stars that shone above his head, but Rhaegar silently pleaded as his dark indigo eyes desperately searched the darkness through which he moved.

When they fell on another trail of blood, close enough to the first one to suggest a pattern, Rhaegar did not know whether to follow it with hope or dread. Walking and walking, he did not know for how long, Rhaegar spotted what his heightened senses claimed was her figure curled up on the ground in the distance, obfuscated by darkness.

 _Please, be alive. Please._ he found himself saying a silent prayer as his feet hurriedly breached the last final feet and he found himself on his knees, his hand desperately moving her short dark curls from her face. Her body felt warm under his touch, but her eyes were closed. _Oh gods._

„Lyanna, wake up. Lyanna!“ His voice desperately insisted, willing her to a response. His exasperation grew with every second the still expression on her face remained unchanged. Even in the shy glint of moonlight, Rhaegar could see various cuts and scabs marring her lovely features and a bruise, blooming upon her cheekbone. The sight made him want to tear up.

Desperately checking her over, he saw an abundance of blood covering her hands and clothes, one he barely decided was not hers in his minimal presence of mind. Not wanting to do it, terrified of what he might or might not find, Rhaegar pressed his fingers to the side of her bruised neck.

The following moments were what he would remember as the most horrifying seconds of his life until he felt a faint thump against his fingertips, then another and another. The sigh that tore from him made him feel the weight of the whole world had been lifted from his shoulders.

„You are alive. You will be well.“ He spoke faintly with relief as his hand stroked her hair, realizing he was convincing himself mostly for she could not hear him. Her heart was beating, then, what was wrong? Oh, she had to wake up, he needed her to wake up...

Moving to lift her head up then, Rhaegar let his fingers move to behind her skull. Feeling a dampness under his fingertips, he found them returned coated in blood, this one definitely hers. It made a new wave of excruciating fear wash over him as he shook her gently, then harder. No response; her expression remained peaceful, the very picture of calm. 

„Lyanna, open your eyes! Lyanna...“ _Please don't die, you can't die._ What he needed was for her to open her eyes, he needed to hear her voice to end this torture...

„Rhaegar?“ Then she whispered, her voice weak and hoarse but hers nonetheless. It snapped his eyes back to her features so fast as his heart started and stopped at once. She coughs harshly before she finds the strength to move her eyelids.

„I am here, my love. I am here.“ He assured her quickly as he moved her hair from her forehead. The prince thought himself barely able of restraining the immense relief and excitement that flooded him as deep grey eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting his.

„I killed him.“ She suddenly fretted with despair in her voice, as she attempted to rise. Rhaegar immediately moved to soothe her, knowing she was in no condition to move. Then, she sobs, every pained breath poking a sharp dagger in his own heart. „Gods Rhaegar, he was trying to hurt me, I just wanted him to stop I didn't mean to...“

„Shh, my love.“ Rhaegar's gentle touch smoothed it all away as his calm voice convinced. „It is not your fault. You did what you had to do.“

„My head hurts.“ Her eyelids fluttered as she absently moved her hand up, as if to touch to the wound. Rhaegar caught her hand gently with his own as his lips tightened with sorrow. „I know, my sweet. Everything will be well. I promise. You are safe.“

„It is not safe here.“ she cried desperately then, surprising him. „Please Rhaegar, let us go somewhere safe. They want to hurt you...“

„Who does, my love?“ He prompted gently, more out of curiosity of what she spoke of than for giving importance to words uttered in such a state.

„Please, take me, carry me away from this place...promise me.“ she managed to utter drowsily, before exhaustion took over.

This time, less than alarmed as he glanced upon her face once again calmed with sleep, Rhaegar took a moment to stroke her hair a little longer and place a kiss on her unbruised cheek. His heart broke with the sight of her hurt, injured so, even when he had the relief of knowing it would soon all be but a less than fond memory; he would make sure of it. He would care for her, he would soothe it all away.  

„We are leaving, I promise.“ Whispered Rhaegar softly into the humid summer air. With that comforting thought, his arms got a firm hold of her slight form with caution before he rose straight. 

His posture firm and righted as he walked alongside the murmuring sea, burdened by her slight weight alongside his own, Rhaegar took a moment to wonder what could it possibly be that she had spoken of.


	33. Of Sea, Stone and Dragons

Looking to the peaceful water surface that spread before him endlessly, Rhaegar let his tired eyes linger on the sunlight that played in the still clarity of the sea. Standing firmly, soldier-like on the upper deck ever since the crack of dawn, the prince had the chance to observe the changes in the endless water that surrounded the galley playing host to him. For the most part, he found the sight soothing.

His straight posture, however, could not lie to an intent observant, for Rhaegar felt an intense, radiating ache spreading through his bones. Last night, after climbing the ship with Lyanna in his arms and depositing her into soft sheets, his own bed had felt too far away, and climbing in with her made him fearful of causing her discomfort. The compromise came in a form of a shallow nap in a hard, wooden chair by Lyanna's bedside that ended as the stiffness in his neck surpassed his need for rest.

Seeing her slight chest rise and fall with regular, deep breaths that promised she was alive, as well as unlikely to wake up soon, Rhaegar afforded his body a small walk in hopes of shedding some of the tension that owned his muscles. The tension was rooted in more than physical, he knew, but any wondering, trying to make sense of it all in his head only left his mind going in circles and back to a single point.

_„Please, take me, carry me away from this place...promise me.“_

Only she could give him true answers, and Rhaegar thought it selfish to steal from her rest in order to satisfy his curiosity. Instead, he sought out the calmness of the sea, hoping some of that calmness would translate into his soul.

 It had been such a peculiar thing, he thought, how a sea's temperament could change from one instant to the next, at the mercy of winds. Just the previous night, the darkened sea had been unsettled, protesting. The incessant murmur of large waves against the shore seemed intent on warning him, suggesting danger. It was as if the scary creature that was the sea longed to protect the stray she-wolf, long way lost from home.

No matter how much he tried, Rhaegar could not quite shake off the dread of helplessness that overwhelmed him as he remained leaned over her unconscious body, willing her to be alive. It had been a frightening feeling, like his own life had been intertwined with hers, as if his heartbeat had been hers. His own fear scared him, if there was such a thing. What would have happened had he lost her, he didn't dare ponder.

The thought made him clench his fist harder, feel the sharp edge of her pendant cutting into his skin. It was a pleasant kind of pain; in his dull state, Rhaegar wondered how he could bring himself to feel anything.  

He thought back to how fast his blood had rushed to his head as he saw the silvery oval surface shining on the ground; he still remembered flashes that passed before his eyes. One flash was of him sneaking up to her backside, snaking an arm around her waist as he inhaled that scent that lingered in her dark curls; looking down, he would see the great jewel shining atop the pale swell of her cleavage. Another image was one where he would lay her down into soft sheets, wishing to make love to her and the pendant along with the chain would move with her unsettled breaths.

It would forever be impossible to doubt such a thing, he decided. 

 

* * *

  

Eyes fluttering open, the first conscious thought through her mind was the dull pain in the back of her head. It was one that lasted forever, to Lyanna it seemed, piercing through her dreams. Her body had felt so weak, aching, that even keeping her eyes open costed her extraordinary effort. Slowly pulling herself up, Lyanna realized her surroundings were entirely unfamiliar to her. Last night, what happened last night? She remembered Rhaegar's voice, calling out to her like from a haze of dream. Was it all a dream?

Her weak attention was called by the doors of the strange cabin unsealing; Lyanna braced herself, her body on needles and pins. She almost teared up with relief when she saw him enter, she'd felt so lost. His fair features at first seemed startled, then lit up in pleasant surprise as his gaze met hers.

Aptly moving to her bedside, her prince took her hand into his, pressing a gentle kiss there. „You are awake, my love.“ He observed softly, bright indigo eyes looking up at her.

Lyanna tried to give him a small smile, but she found it caused her pain. Slowly touching a hand to her face, she realized her cheekbone felt awfully tender. She must have been bruised....It looked horrid, by the regretful expression on his face. It didn't feel much better either.

„What happened, my sweet?“ Rhaegar gently asked as his hand moved a stray hair from her face. The prince weighed in his head between the frightening curiosity that gnawed at him ever since he'd found her on that shore, and concern of not burdening her additionally in her weakened state.

„I... I don't know.“ She croaked confused. A frown springing on her face, Lyanna moved to sit herself up straight in the pillow bed. Judging by the small grimace that passed quickly over her features, the movement seemed to have pained her. „Rhaegar, why can't I remember?“ She asks then, looking to him with a trace of fear.

 _„_ You hit your head hard. It sometimes happens with injuries like those, parts of your memories get lost. You might remember, you might not. Try not to fret about it now.“ As he soothed her, Lyanna thought of his eyes looking to hers so lovingly, compassionately.

All she could do in response was look to him silently, with a wolf-pup look in her eyes that worked as well as a means of communication as any word of the Common Tongue would. Lyanna missed him and even more, she felt she needed him. She needed the consolation of having him now that there was this giant gap in her brain, confusing her.

Seemingly understanding, Rhaegar moved the sheets and indeed positioned his weight on the bed next to hers; it made a small sigh of relief pass her lips. In turn, the prince pulled her gently to his chest, making sure none of her injuries were aggravated by the movement.

Having her leaned against him so as he sat with his back righted against the bed board, allowed him place a small kiss on her forehead.

„I remember you.“ She thought out loud, after a moment. „I remember my father, my brothers, Winterfell...“ _Oh gods, Brandon._ Eyelashes suddenly batting up as her body tensed, Lyanna spoke with fright. „Brandon, how is he? Please don't say it, don't, don't...“

Rhaegar knew what had her so frightened. Oh course, she hadn't known yet, how would she? „Brandon is alive and well, so is your father. They are free, and I promise, we shall go visit soon.“ He calmly gave her the short version of the tale, aiming to ease her soul.  

„Truly?“ She asked, breathless. Her wide eyes looked to him, unsure, as if it was too wonderful a news to believe.

„Truly.“ Rhaegar confirmed softly, allowing his hand to move and cup the side of her face.

Lyanna felt a wave of joy and immense relief overwhelming her chest, thinking to her brother, safe and sound, thinking to coming back to Winterfell where everything and everyone would be how she left them...Oh, how she feared she would lose it all.

Then, another thought came to her, one of self-chastisement and shame. Her brother and father might have been alive, but how shall they react when they find out she is a married woman now, married without their consent? Lyanna believed in her reasons, and she wouldn't regret it even if she had a million years to ponder it all. Still, she feared the insult she might have caused her father.

„And...“ She heard Rhaegar say; her eyes shot up with attention. „They know of our marriage, and so does the king.“ That, she did not expect.

„What did he say?“ Lyanna heard herself ask, her voice small.

„The king is not opposed.“ Said Rhaegar softly with a sigh. By the forlorn tone to his voice, Lyanna would think it a bad thing.

„And...Father and Brandon?“ She asks, somehow fearing this answer more, even if it was the king that had the capacity of burning them both. With the king's approval, her father could at most hold a grudge, but Lyanna thought it to be as fatal.

„Your brother was upset by you disappearing, understandably so. It took some effort for me to explain it all in a proper light. Your father did not express any sentiments beside acknowledgement, but I could see that they both love and care for you, very much so. I believe you have nothing to worry for, my love.“

Hearing that, her posture visibly relaxed as she leaned back into him, with a satisfied sigh. It had been an underreaction, Rhaegar decided with small amusement, one surely in debt to a lack of physical strength. He did not know for how long they just lay there, intertwined, but he could have it forever. What had transpired in the dead of night, he did not know, and she did could not remember. Some of the answers they needed, they may never find. The prince decided it mattered little for the time being.

When a soft murmur snaps him out of his thoughts, Rhaegar realized she hadn't a similar peace of mind. 

„Rhaegar, I keep thinking...Last thing I remember, I was in this castle...and then I was at the beach, and then... Gods, I thought about it, I truly can't remember. I just have these...flashes that I can't even tell if they are of dreams or something that truly happened.“

„Flashes of what?“ Rhaegar prompted softly. His dark indigo eyes relayed such concern and tenderness as he inclined his head to look upon her face. Lyanna gave a small sniffle in return.

„Flashes of this man. He wanted to hurt me, gods I think he wanted to rape me. I have this one image...of his hand, reaching to touch my leg and then...blood. It was like it was caused by something I did. Like I killed him. It might be a dream, I don't know...“

„It wasn't a dream, my sweet.“ Rhaegar assured, his thumb tracing over her unbruised cheek ever so tenderly. Lyanna's grey eyes widened with fear and sorrow at this experience lived of hers, that became unwanted news.

„How can you be sure?“ She asked, mayhap harsher than she intended. Nay, she didn't want it to be true. These flashes, they have been a horrid, unsettling thing that she wanted to forget the same way she forgot all her nightmares after Old Nan would tell her of snarks and grumpkins. Then, she was merely a child with an overactive imagination; she was a grown woman now, she had to remind herself. Mayhap she couldn't will all her nightmares away after all...

„When I found you, I did so for I knew to look for you. You'd lost this.“ Rhaegar told her as his open palm held her pendant with a broken chain for her to see. Lyanna touched a hand to her neck, just now startled by it missing.

Although reluctant of expanding on the subject, wary of upsetting her, Rhaegar tentatively continued. „Where I found the pendant, there was blood. And...a dead man. I assume the pendant was lost in the struggle.“

„He didn't...“

„Nay, my love.“ Rhaegar quickly reassured. He himself found her initial recount ambiguous, but changing her out of the bloodied clothes, with relief he found her defense wounds weren't of such nature. „You fought him off. Only you hurt your head during the scuffle.“

„I...I don't remember any of it.“ Her voice croaked. It made him realize he had indeed upset her, despite his best intentions. He could answer a million questions, the ones that he knew an answer to, but it would do little to ease the discomfort of the giant gap in her memory.

Eyes snapping up as a sniffle reached his ears, Rhaegar saw large, large clear tears spilling down her cheeks. Injured by the sight, he moved to wipe them away gently.

„Lyanna, my sweet.“ He spoke to her softly, as he moved to smooth her dark curls. She looked to him, grey eyes glistening with unshed dew. „It will all be well. You might recall, you might not, but you are not alone. Do you know where we are going?“ He asks her brightly, and she shakes her head left and right. In her lack of presence of mind, she hadn't a chance to ask.

„An island by the name of Dragonstone. 'Tis a beautiful place, an island upon which the entire history of my family was made. We can explore it, I'll whisper you tales, I'll show you all of it, my love. We can run, we can ride till we wish to fall off our horses, longing for rest.“

„What of Snow?“ Lyanna asks with a small pout on her pretty red lips, suddenly reminded. Snow was her mare, one which she had no idea where she'd left. The beast had been fiercely dear to her heart; it carried her for so many miles, brought her joy. It was she who carried her, almost getting shot by an arrow before Lyanna ran away with her prince. Oh, she had to be in Dorne...

„I'm sure she is in the stables near our tower.“ Rhaegar assured; there had been no trace of a horse when he'd found her on the shore. „We can have her shipped, first thing upon our arrival.“

A beautiful grin came in the place of tears at this, and Rhaegar felt his heart full with joy her own caused within him. He loved it so, seeing her happy and bright. „Most important,"- he continued -„'tis our place of safety. It is my seat as an heir of my father, and it is yours as well, for you are my wolf-princess.“

Even when Winterfell was what Lyanna truly longed for, his descriptions made her smile. He'd promised they would visit Winterfell soon, and Lyanna would look forward to it every day until she indeed felt the blowing of fresh Northern winds on her skin. Dragonstone would do for now, she decided. She needn't be a princess, she just wanted to be his...

With that thought and a glint of mischief, Lyanna pressed her lips into his, finding it sweet even with every twinge of physical pain it caused her. It had been so long, she had to do it. He'd been surprised, judging by the low guttural sound that escaped him; surprised and very pleased.

 


	34. In the Dragon's Den

As her legs claimed their first steps on the firm ground of the stormy shore, Lyanna thought herself immensely relieved. Her head turning, the sight of the large galley on which her dragonprince had sailed to her rescue provoked a smile, despite the fact the journey had proven itself to be torturous.

Atop of her physical injuries that she could still hardly recall how she got, ill luck had befallen her once more in the form of seasickness. Just as Lyanna had assumed the impact of her head injury waning, a short trip to the deck had her puking her guts out over the edge and into the vast blue darkness before her. Her ails, unsubsiding, confined her to a bed and made Rhaegar fret over her health. Despite her initial objections, he'd made her promise him she'd let a maester do an examination as soon as they reached firm lands.

Lyanna for her own part pretended to mind his doting, but secretly she found it endearing. Often times she caught herself, even chastised herself when her thoughts would dangerously start to resemble ones of a simpering maiden sweeped of her feet by the handsome prince. Rhaegar was making her soft, and the terrifying thing had been that she didn't fear it, she thought. Where she would show affection, he showed it tenfold more; he looked to her eyes as if they held his stars. She could feign, but she would never be cold enough to feel indifferent to such a thing.

With satisfaction, Lyanna let herself note that the firm ground beneath her feet almost instantly helped with the dizzyness and the heavy feeling in her limbs. The haze that was her memories wasn't something as easily corrected, Lyanna feared. She was slowly coming to terms with the idea that she may never truly recall, and yet despite of it, she caught herself often dwelling on the subject. It had been confusing and frustrating, laying against the pillows, hours on end with the most uncomfortable of distractions that was the void in her mind. A week of bedrest felt like a week too long, and now Lyanna had a gnawing need to employ her muscles and bones.

 With a breath of elation as she saw men and horses who, by all appearances, waited for them, Lyanna picked up her pace, leaving Rhaegar and Ser Arthur behind in their conversation. She was accustomed to and missed Snow, but any horse would have to do for their trip to the castle.

Approaching swiftly a chestnut mare that caught her attention as she caught men bowing to her with a corner of her eye, Lyanna moved to pet her warm muzzle, looking around for any sugar cubes she could give her. The mare gave her a short neigh as Lyanna stroked its soft mane. „Oh, yes I quite like you too.“ she purred to the sweet animal.

Her joy was short-lived- she realized with a breathy sigh as she felt Rhaegar's arms sliding around her waist. Looking upward so that she may meet his gaze, Lyanna could see his dark indigo eyes looking to her with reprimand, saying the exact thing she knew they would - _I know what you are planning, and I won't let you do it._  

„I am not traveling by a carriage.“ was all she said.

* * *

 

Holding onto the rains of the beast that carried her , or rather _them_ as she looked to her surroundings with curiosity, Lyanna had to admit Rhaegar's solution wasn't the worst thing in the world. Grudgingly, she had acquiesced when he'd suggested they share a horse. It had been the third time they had to resort to such arrangement, Lyanna noted,  as to her it all started to feel like some sort of lifelong jest her destiny played on her.

She felt forced to let go of such ponderings as a soft giggle escaped her, one in debt to the feel of Rhaegar's breaths and soft kisses on her neck. His touch tickled her, and even more, it made her body reverberate with warmth that reminded her of carnal pleasure. In an unladylike fashion, she wondered to just how many forms of riding her prince might be opposed to.

Whenever she caught herself in crass thoughts, Lyanna made it a point to blame Brandon, his friends and their bawdy tales.

 „What are you smiling about?“ Came Rhaegar's soft, low voice in her ear. He had been so close, Lyanna could do little but lean back as she let out a barely heard moan.

 „I am smiling about...you.“ She returned in her husky voice, one through which Rhaegar could hear her smile, even if she was turned away from him.

„I'm smiling about you, too.“ He returned, in that same, low tone she felt could drive her insane. Lyanna could only laugh at the desire that flooded her at the most inopportune time, lest she kicked them both off the horse and tore at his clothes right then and there with claws and fangs, like only a she-wolf would.

„Really?“ She returned easily instead. „What is it that makes you smile, pray tell?“ Lyanna felt like she was torturing herself, but she couldn't resist.

„I am smiling about your eyes.“ He returned, in that same low, breathy tone of voice, so soft, only for her to hear. „And your own smile. About your collarbones and about your waist, how it feels when I hold you like this.“ He demonstrated by letting his warm hands roam to circle her waist; long, elegant fingers inched about her middle. It made her shudder.

She wanted him to keep speaking, she felt his words only could make her explode and never look back. „About your long, lean legs and how it feels to travel up them...“

„Mhm.“ She mewled back, it was beyond her control.

„...and about the way your thighs shudder, when I touch you.“

Oh, if only he knew how her thighs shuddered right now. It almost hurt, the desire he'd rooted inside her. Lyanna barely restrained herself from pushing his hand down her breeches. Looking around, seeing they were in a midst of a travelling party, nothing less than pissed her off. Rhaegar, on the other hand, seemed to be entirely aware of what he was doing, finding enjoyment as he tormented her.

Lyanna aimed to catch her breath as she straightened in the saddle; it was a sorry attempt at soothing the nerves he'd lit on fire. „That is no way to speak to a proper lady.“ She heard herself deadpanning, a bite to her lip being the only evidence of fooling about.

„Luckily for me, my lady is just a tiny bit less than proper, is she not?“ He returned, his dark indigo eyes meeting hers innocently as her head turned.

„Aye, no lord in his proper mind would ever bring me to meet his mother.“ She replied with a glint in her eye, a small smirk lingering on her red lips.

 „Curious you mention it.“ she heard him say. „Mayhap I'm in less than proper mind for my mother will love meeting you today, Viserys as well.“

„What?“ Lyanna suddenly blurted out, as wide grey eyes turned to look upon him severely. The mood had been broken and Lyanna felt a panic of the sort she never thought she would feel at a thing like that.

Looking back to him, she could see no evidence of jesting on his face, that she so prayed for. She was to meet his mother, the Queen, and she was going to be her dirty, dishevelled, relaxed self that Rhaegar claimed he was so charmed by. She wasn't sure his mother would agree on that sentiment. Surely, Lyanna could not go before the queen like _that_ , she thought, looking down to her clothes. She looked much like herself during her sword training, except her face resembled a battlefield all by itself. She didn't dare even ponder the state of her unruly dark locks.

Rhaegar seemed to have read her thoughts, as he let out a soft chuckle. _Don't laugh_ , she wanted to snap at him. Mayhap this had been amusing for him, but for her, it was much less so. Lyanna was never a proper lady, and if one wished to make her insecure, they only needed to fit her in a situation where she had to play at one. That was how such a thing felt to her, like she was playing, faking it to the best of her ability, making it obvious for the whole world to see. Lyanna did not care much for the opinions of the world, but the mother of the man she loved rang like a justifiable exception.

„I do not think you've mentioned that before, my love.“ Was all she returned, icily.

„Do not fret, you will do well.“ He convinced softly, lips murmuring in her skin. „You are wonderful, proper lady or not, and my mother will have no issue seeing it.“

Lyanna only wished she could be as convinced of it as he.

* * *

 

Taking small, easy steps as her heavy, brocade ink-black dress rustled behind her, Lyanna took a moment to pause in the midst of ominous space, once more studying her unknown surroundings. The Castle of Dragonstone had been a glorious, scary thing to ponder; Lyanna could spot imagery of dragons in one form or another wherever her head turned. The Castle itself had been forged after the idea of one, as Rhaegar explained to her. Even the dress she currently wore was created with the same spirit; the sumptuous, long black sleeves that descended from her elbows were fashioned after dragon wings. The dress had been a thing of dark beauty and Lyanna was content to don it, silently grateful that in case she were to cross paths with the queen, she wouldn't be in her leather breeches.

 Lyanna did not thrill much about history, but even she had to admit there was something impressive about roaming the halls from which the great Targaryen ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror united all of the Seven Kingdoms. Her explorations had been free of company, for Rhaegar was burdened with a task that required his attentions almost immediately after they've breached into the Castle grounds.

It left Lyanna with a small pout on her lips as she realized her longings of locking herself away with him would remain unfulfilled; even now her desires lead her in his direction. Mayhap he'd been close to completing his tasks, Lyanna wishfully thought, or he would like to take small rest from them, allowing himself into her attentions instead. He never seemed anything less than delighted when she would come upon him engaged in his readings or scribbles, he'd just let it all down to draw her to his lap. With that enthralling thought, just as her hand hovered to knock on the doors of his solar, Lyanna fell distracted by a thin voice. 

„M'lady.“ A pale servant girl spoke with her head bowed. „The Queen asks if she may have the pleasure of your company in the gardens. What shall I tell her?“

Lyanna internally sighed; it seemed all the forces of nature conspired against her in this matter. She'd expected her first visit with the Queen to be in Rhaegar's presence and it was the only thing keeping her from completely losing her wits.

„Tell her I would be glad to join her.“ Lyanna bit her lip. The girl hurriedly curtsied and her back was quickly in Lyanna's line of view. She said nothing else of the time of the summons, Lyanna pondered. The Queen meant now?

„Wait.“ she called after the thin, disappearing figure. Hurrying her step as she clutched onto the harsh, heavy fabric of her dress, Lyanna caught step with the girl. „Mayhap my presence would work as well as an answer as any.“ Lyanna could hardly believe her mindless state which almost allowed her to keep the Queen waiting.

As she followed the servant girl through still unknown corridors, her chest felt tight, and Lyanna could not quite conclude whether her discomfort had been of a physical or emotional nature. Then, just before they were about to amend their way toward the Dragon's Tail near which Aegon's Garden itself was positioned, Lyanna felt faint. Stopping in her tracks, she reached a hand to lean against a tall, dark column that was only with luck within her reach. She felt grateful the girl noted her lag behind, for she was not certain she had the breath to call her to a halt.

„M'lady, are you well?“ The question of concern came and Lyanna just shut her eyes.

„I will be. Give me a moment.“ She breathed, bringing her hand up to her chest. She had been taken for a rather unpleasant surprise with her body's inability to fend for itself lately. Lyanna could not remember herself being weak and sickly, not even as a child. The Southron climate might have less than agreed with her Northern flesh, she decided. Finding a relief as he lungs finally allowed her take a full breath of air, Lyanna ordered her limbs once more into movement.

Her eased breaths soon brought back the incredibly pleasant scent of what Lyanna believed were pines. These gardens have been more elaborate than any other she'd ever laid eyes on, she had to admit. At any turn, her gaze was met with large, tall trees and shrubs and vines of wild roses. The sight had been distracting enough for Lyanna to completely forget she'd reached this place on a Queen's summons. That same thought rushed back into her head with full force as her eyes fell on the sight of no one other than who Lyanna was sure was the queen, sitting alone by a set tea table.

The queen's gaze was cast away but it didn't lessen the impact her appearance had on her. By the Gods, she had to be the most beautiful woman Lyanna had ever seen. She seemed to be trapped in pleasant thoughts judging by the airy smile that lingered on her face, one only overshadowed by sunlight that caught in her averted orbs, bringing out the very essence of purple in them.

It made Lyanna come to a realization; ever since seeing Rhaegar at his father's side in the Great Hall of Harrenhal, Lyanna could hardly imagine the two men being related. Their Valyrian coloring tied them together, but the difference in posture and behavior had been glaring, even with the two men merely sitting alongside one another. There, however, could be no doubt that in terms of looks and demeanor, Rhaegar took after his mother. The silver Targaryen Queen whose magnificent presence rendered her useless until she realized the queen's attentions shifted to her. Lyanna dropped into a curtsey, one she was certain was terribly crooked, as she softly addressed the other woman by her proper title.

 It took her by more than a little surprise when the Queen rose in a fluid movement, gliding over to her before she touched a gentle hand to her jaw. Lyanna felt a twinge uncomfortable with her face under the queen's scrutiny, even when the older woman's dark-indigo eyes appeared kind. Her injuries hadn't the chance of fully healing yet and Lyanna was sure the yellowish bruise fading on her cheek had still been unsightly.

„Oh, you truly are a beautiful creature, Lady Lyanna. Or shall I say princess.“ The queen croons pleasantly. Lyanna slightly stiffened with apprehension at the address, tentatively searching the queen's face for any sign of disdain.Truly not finding any, she allowed herself relief at the idea Rhaegar had done over with the hard part for the both of them. The complementary remark made a small blush waft over her cheeks as she lowered her head in gratitude, especially when she considered who it was that dealt it. The queen just gives her a small knowing smile before she elegantly lowers her weight into her chair, leaving a faint scent of lilacs behind.

„I can see why you caught my Rhaegar's eye.“The queen adds softly, with a small smile. „Sit, my darling, sit.“ then she urges. Lyanna slowly moved to lower herself into a seat, biting her lip as she struggled to straighten out the skirts of her dark, sumptuous dress. She thought she ought to speak but nothing came to mind. It was better to keep silent than to say something out of place, Lyanna decided. Especially since she seemed to have quite the gift for it, speaking imprudently.

„Oh, I do love the flowers so.“ The Targaryen Queen breathed softly as she looked around, the epitome of beauty and grace. Everything about the queen had been exquisite; Lyanna could not help but look to the woman before her with admiration. It was as if she'd been the living, breathing ideal of femininity. Her beauty and grace were reflected in everything –  her behavior, the way she spoke, the way she carried her silks, the way she held her fragile and yet soft-looking hands in her lap.

They had been hands of a mother, Lyanna realized. Loving and caring, soft and tender to match a child's fragileness and innocence. Lyanna herself hadn't known much about such a thing; the faint, abstract idea she had of her late mother was a tender spot in her heart. She wished she could say she remembered it, a mother's caring touch.

Lyanna much better understood the way men showed emotions, in that far less delicate and at times annoying, overbearing way if those emotions were akin to anger. Men were known for their harsh tongue and a wielding of a weapon to match their words. Tenderness, however, most men struggled to show. No matter how much her father tried, he could not replace the perfect idea of a delicate, compassionate woman Lyanna had developed and longed for many times, when she would find herself to be alone in a man's world.

From her earlier days, Lyanna adapted, even excelled in such a world. She was principled of never thinking of her sex as something that made her less able or less inclined to succeed in the same activities her brothers reveled in. She was as fast as them, as skilled as them, sometimes even superior to them in their interests. That all of it would matter little, she'd always known in some dark corner of her mind, one she did not like visit often.

It wasn't until her budding years, when her body molded in a becoming form for a young woman and her moonblood had come, that Lyanna realized her days of ignoring, escaping the fate predestined to her as a highborn lady were slipping from her fingers. Just like that; with a drop of blood, she'd become a maid. It wasn't long after that her lord father made his first mentions of her impending betrothal.

„My darling.“ A kind voice snapped her suddenly out of her thoughts. When she looked up, the Queen's deep, deep violet eyes smiled at her. „I am having a pair of seamstresses take my measures tomorrow afternoon, I would be delighted if you would join me. A princess needs to have a wardrobe to match her title.“

„Your grace, you are very kind.“ Lyanna returned in her husky voice, before she gave the other woman a shy smile. „I'd love to.“ Truly, Lyanna hadn't been terribly excited about acting as a mannequin for a better part of the afternoon, but she'd been glad for the queen's offer. Mayhap they may grow to like each other, Lyanna would love that.

„ A princess also needs a crown.“ Remarked the queen as she looked to Lyanna with a tilt of her head. „I shall hope my firstborn hadn't been busy enough to forget about bestowing one upon you.“

„Nay, I have a crown.“ She was quick to blurt out. Her hands fidgeting awkwardly in her lap, Lyanna swallowed with a twinge of guilt. It had been her unwillingness to don the diadem that kept it untouched since their wedding night. Lyanna could still remember Rhaegar's deft fingers prying the gilded circlet from her tangled curls where it got lost during their loving in the godswood. Rhaegar hadn't mentioned it ever since and it had completely slipped her mind. It seemed like such a silly thing now, going before the queen without it.

„Your crown is your source of power.“ The queen assured kindly as she reached with her hand, covering Lyanna's own and giving it a small pat. „You are a princess and you are Rhaegar's wife. Everything you do reflects on you, on him and in the end, your reign together and even your future children. Such is true now, and even more when Rhaegar becomes king.“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small question: As you might have noted, I kinda mix and intertwine different POVs in the same chapter or even during the same scene. Like, if R+L are talking, both of their thoughts/feelings are fleshed out. For this last one, I kept it about 99% Lyanna; just wondering which you find preferable, and does a multi-char POV mess with your immersion?


	35. Love and Sacrifice

Moving his head from his pillow with a small hum, Rhaegar found a place of greater comfort in the crook of Lyanna's neck and bare shoulder. As he snuggled up to her, he let his nose sink into the softness of her dark locks, his arm in turn reaching to envelop her waist.

She had been so warm, he thought, his slumbering she-wolf. Untangling himself from the warmth of their sheets to the mercy of cool air seemed like such a dire, regretful thing, that he settled on postponing it. He ought to rise, he knows it, but what good is his presence to the realm when his mind is fated to linger elsewhere.

Instead, Rhaegar let his fingers trace the pale column of her neck, moving her soft locks out of the way before he reached to honor that same place with a press of his lips.

Her own reaction came in the form of a soft, sleepy moan tearing from her throat, causing vibrations Rhaegar could sense as much as he could hear. It made a small smile spring to his lips as they met her silky skin, again and again. 

He could not see her face nor he felt the fastened rise of her breath until she abruptly turned, sinking her hand into his tresses and prying his mouth open with her tongue. He remembers his ideas being of a more languid sort but it is so sweet, he cannot resist comply. Her taste, her scent, her touch, her breathy sighs, all of it feels like ingredients to some ancient spell that he can only be glad to be bewitched by. 

It had begun dawning on him that the fierceness and passion intrinsic to her being- the very thing that enraptured his heart, very much relayed into the way she made love.

She had been a wicked woman – his mind settled upon a word, his raven-haired lady with batting eyes of ice, obscenely red lips and a fatal smile. When her fingertips gently drag over the muscled surface of his back, still causing tingles of pain as they meet the red trails she imprinted on him last night, he is only more certain of it.

He wants to take his time, he wants to trace his mouth over every inch of her delicious, pale skin, let his tongue feel the beads of sweat that erupted from her frustration. He wants to see her writhing under him, begging, aching for it, needing him to stop her from turning into ashes, and yet his heart is not cruel enough to deny her when she looks to him with those eyes.

When she does, when her thick eyelashes bat at him and her hand silently leads him between her thighs like it does now, he is stripped to nothing; he is no prince, no man with a name or a purpose; he is made of fire itself, burning with the sole desire of pleasing her.

Then, he moves, she moves, the bed squeaks and the headboard thuds against the wall, but it matters not. He feels none of it, he hears none of it beyond her moans and the sound of his name on her lips.

He angles his hips so her own have more space to work with, he leans against his forearms so his weight doesn't crush her. She would have none of it, of the consideration, caution, and he would not want it be any different. She cannot hurt him with anything but leaving.

* * *

 

 After the conclusion, when both of them are spent – this is usually when she becomes tame, affectionate and tender; she makes no exception in this instance. Their flesh is apart just for how long it takes them to regain their breath, and he listens to the sounds of her own like it is a symphony. Then, she leans into him, lets her small, elegant hand trace over the muscles and scars marring his chest.

Sometimes she would lean her head against his chest, her face intent as she listens for a heartbeat and he would let his fingers lazily play in her soft dark curls. Now she doesn't; she just sighs happily as her luminous grey eyes watch to him. He leans in, nuzzles against her own nose like he so loves to do, before he brushes his lips over hers.

It is different, their kissing after, it is lazy and it is soft – it almost makes him wonder how a single woman can kiss him in so many different ways. Even more, it makes him wonder how her passion allows her the tenderness for it. Her affections right now, he enjoys it, he wants to savour it but it lulls him into a dull state of mind, one in which he is of no use to anyone nor anything beside his own dreams.

„My sweet.“ he tells her, such a thing just torments him at the tip of his tongue. „My dearest, my love“ He knows she won't be pleased but he has already borrowed the time for it. He gives her a short peck on the cheek before he moves to rise but her pout pins him there, right above her head.

„Must you leave already?“ she asks in a tone that fills him with further regret.

„I must, my love.“ He answers seriously, as his hand reaches to move her scattered dark locks from her forehead. It feels insufficient, incomplete because she still has that look on her face.

„I...I have some urgent matters to attend to. I am behind with my obligations, as you know, some unexpected things have happened lately so I couldn't honor my duty.“ He phrases it like that because he doesn't want to remind her of the fact she doesn't remember. She needn't know he is investigating that entire matter, now that she is trying to put it behind her. He has to, it is of import. It is for her own safety. One instance of her in danger had been one too many for him.

Mayhap he wants to change the subject, mayhap he wants to deflect the guilt omitting things to her causes in him, but he asks. „How have you been feeling, my love? Still better?“

He asks, when he knows the answer. A case of a near fainting spell before a servant girl already served his entire castle speculate about her becoming with child.

Her lips tighten; she is about to evade, he knows. „A little. You needn't worry, I shall be well.“

„How can I not worry?“ He asks, his eyes getting caught up in the light of her own for an instant. When he feels himself softening, yielding to her charm, he looks away as he speaks. „I want you to go see a maester.“

„But Rhaegar – “

„I won't hear it.“ He says resolutely. „'Tis for your health. Let the master do an examination, it won't take more than half an hour. And do tell him of what happened...“

„How can I tell him when I don't remember?“ She blurts out with quick fury. Suddenly he understands the reluctance.

„Mayhap the maester can help. He should give his opinion, just for safety. Please, my love.“ He wants to coax her into it but her eyes say she is not having it. „Please.“ He lowers his voice as he leans, his neck angles his head so her may kiss at her jaw.

„The things I do for love.“ She sighs. He feels his mouth stretching into a smile all by itself.

„Thank you.“ He murmurs softly against her lips before he attempts to rise a second time. It is her voice that stops him this time.

„Wait.“ He looks to her and she averts her grey eyes. She speaks softly, her voice almost shy with guilt. „I wanted to ask you if you know where my crown is.“

He received a single clue and already he knows the rest. What he doesn't know is whether to thank his sharp wits or his mother's predictability. „Did the queen put you up to this?“

„No.“ She says quietly, biting her lip like a child hiding candy. Then, her hands rise to the air before falling back into bed. „Yes.“

He chuckles without shame, it was certainly warranted. She doesn't seem to see it so.

„Is this ridiculous to you?“ she asks. „Am I ridiculous? Silly Lyanna, why would she want a crown, it will just fall off her head while she rides her horse.“

He truly wants to regain seriousness, but the image she is painting isn't helping. „Nay, my love.“ He returns in a barely level voice as he cups the side of her face. „I think your crown will look wonderful on you, 'tis just that I know such things weigh on you.“ Her expression tells him that he is right.

„You are right.“ Her words confirm it as she looks to him. „But it shan't always be that way. Even if I hate it Rhaegar, I will have to do some things as your princess. I don't want to put you to shame, put your house to shame, cause a destruction of an entire dynasty and Gods know what else.“

He smiles again but she seems forgiving because he is drowning the amusement in the side of her neck. „Very well.“ He whispers as he places a small kiss on her jaw. „If you have a desire for your crown, you shall have it.“

„Two things though.“ He adds as he rises to meet her gaze. „You will never, ever be an embarrassment to me. You can lose your crown, you can get mud on your dress, topple before the entire court and if anyone dares laugh, they will be for a head shorter.“

„And the other thing?“ She asks, her voice softer, almost ethereal. There is a small twinkle, a pretty spark in her eye that doesn't escape him.

„You can ride the horse with your crown. Those things are made to keep on your head, even when you move. How do you think Aegon the Conqueror rode into battle?“

* * *

 

„Oswell?“ Rhaegar looked to the partly obscured figure in the hallway that still carried a degree of familiarity. Finally leaving Lyanna's chambers a couple hours belated, with less vigor and more regret than he would want, the prince was certain the rest of his day would pass rather unremarkably. Judging by the sight, he was about to be proven wrong on that account. 

The positive suspicions affirmed as the other knight approached in a fastened pace; his white armor moving alongside his muscles, the knight bowed toward his prince as he made sufficient approach. Oswell lowered his head, seemingly about to catch his breath and speak until Rhaegar waved a hand.

„Please. Let us go this way.“

Followed by the faithful knight in his service, Rhaegar set on breaching the distance to his solar on brisk legs. The urgency of his own movements he attributed to his eagerness of starting this conversation, yet in private. Beside Lyanna, Ser Oswell was the only figure who could shed any light on the mystery of recent events.

Once passing the point of his wide, two-winged doors, Rhaegar moved to stand beside the heavy oak desk that served as his place of work. Leaning his hands against the dark surface, slightly shifting his weight as he did so, the prince took a deep breath; he felt like he needed one. Ser Oswell himself approached, and the door wings soon closed from the outside. The knight's head did not rise but Rhaegar could hear his low, solemn voice clearly.

„My prince, I have failed to do my duty by you. The princess was harmed on my watch and for that-„

„Oswell, that is not-.“ The knight was visibly distraught by his failure, and the last thing in Rhaegar's mind was reprimand. If there was anyone to blame, it could surely only be himself. He was the one who left her alone and scared, the one who saw danger in King's Landing and completely disregarded the rest. 

„That is not why I wish to speak to you. And please, I will not hear that nonsense. Judging by your note, there was no way to amend what happened short of informing me, which you have done.“

Taking a breath, Rhaegar continued with curiosity after a beat. „Speaking of which, what exactly happened?“

„My prince, the circumstances surrounding the first incident I have explained in the letter as you know. There, however, is something else.“

„Do tell.“ Rhaegar prompted, his indigo eyes scraping over the other man's face with anticipation.

 „While I had initially been cornered into abandoning my princess, that was not the end of my efforts to protect her. Looking for a way of rescuing her out of Prince Doran's castle, I found a servant with inside access; one with no loyalties but to gold. I, of course, desired information of her whereabouts and an access point to such. Neither of which I was given,  considering the princess had already gone missing.“

Rhaegar felt a smallest bead of sweat collecting on his forehead. „Missing? Where?“ Trying to alleviate some of the tension accumulated within him, the prince let himself move, leaning on the desk with his backside as he expected an answer.

„My prince, I am afraid I could not tell you that. The most the servant gathered was that the princess had run away on her own account. The bars to her chamber window were found dislodged from inside.“

„She ran...“ Rhaegar contemplated this for a second, it made sense, surely, and she was more than capable of doing it. Yet, there were still doubts. Why then? There had been days separating the two events. Mayhap she didn't get a chance earlier, his sane side convinced. Regardless, the prince felt irked, bothered by something as he considered it all. What could have possibly been her plan of return?

„I do wish I could tell you more, my prince.“ Ser Oswell voiced regretfully. „I cannot imagine your worry given such a situation.“

 _Neither could I_ , Rhaegar thought solemnly. It was a feeling of such sort that one had to experience it in order to fully grasp it, and once had been quite sufficient for him.

„I do hope my princess is well. I would wish to give her my apologies and ask for her health if she would be kind enough to hear it.“

„The princess is fairly well.“ Rhaegar breathed softly. „She had been injured but with luck there shall be no long-term consequences. I am certain she would care to know you returned safe; you may seek for her later if you wish.“

„You have my gratitude, my prince. Her horse is also in the stables, I brought the mare back with me on my return. I assume the princess will be more joyful to see her than me.“

Rhaegar smiled with the corner of his mouth. „I am certain she will. Do be mindful and not let her go riding out alone.“

The knight nodded, accepting of his duties before he dropped in a bow. Just as the white-armored back were turned in the line of his sight, Rhaegar had a thought.

„Wait.“

When the knight turned, the prince could be found distracted, prying something from the drawers of his work desk judging by the sight. Looking closer, Ser Oswell approached. His hands were accepting to the large jewelry box lined with black velvet and red satin which was extended to him.

„Take this to the princess if you are already intent on seeking her out.“

Oswell nodded. „Should I say anything to accompany the gift, my prince?“

„I think she will understand.“ Rhaegar sighed thoughtfully as his finger traced a small pattern atop the sturdy surface of his desk.

He didn't even notice the knight excusing himself and leaving; his attentions stayed trapped on the contents of his drawer – precisely, the bronze locket that caught his eye. With a single glance to the newly uncovered object, Rhaegar felt his so far pleasant mood crashing.

Moving back to behind his desk as he took a seat, the prince sighed, craning his hand into his hands as a headache started permeating its way into his temples. He might as well solve this matter, there was no reason nor excuse to postpone it any longer. His marriage to Lyanna would soon be everything but a secret, no matter any of his efforts which he did not wish to give regardless. Still, there had been those who had to be properly informed of it, who needed to hear it from him before the news was made public.

 His behavior had been distasteful, that Rhaegar knew, but it just seemed like he was being pulled into every imaginable direction. Gods were his witnesses, he did not intend to keep Elia in the dark any longer, even back in King's Landing. Had he the time to act correctly, Elia would be in Dragonstone right now and he would be on his way to King's Landing, with his soul light of lies and secrets and his heart warm as Lyanna sat beside him. His destiny flat out refused to have it; just as he took a breath to excuse himself from Jon and seek an audience with his first wife, Arthur had come bearing the news of Lyanna being held captive.

No matter how he acted, a man here or a woman there would stay slighted for his actions, he thought with frustration. His unwillingness to let that woman be Lyanna since the very beginning, brought him more concern and tension than he could ever imagine he would have to bear. And yet, Rhaegar could not clearly remember his reasons for waking up every morning prior to meeting her.

 His mental ramblings had been pointless, he decided. Their sole purpose had been one of making himself feel better, and he was gloriously failing at the task anyway. Eyes seeking out his quill, Rhaegar let his hand trace over for a fresh peace of paper instead. Acquiring one, he let his right hand flow over it, leaving less than perfect inkmarks. Even his handwriting disagreed with him, Rhaegar thought with dissatisfaction.

When the sound of doors open and shut alongside familiar footsteps reached his ears in the following moment, the prince put the quill down. He needn't lift his head to know who it was that had arrived. Not looking up, the Prince extended the freshly forged letter to the other knight.

„Arthur, make sure this travels by a raven to King's Landing. 'Tis a summon for Elia and our children.“

„My prince.“ Arthur let out severely. Eyes glancing up as his ears registered the grievous tone, Rhaegar did a double take, perplexed by the other man's expression.

 There had been nothing less than tears glistening in his purple eyes.

         


	36. Only Death Can Pay for Life

„My princess.“ The man who seems to be the maester himself bows to her deeply even before she has the chance to approach the open doors. He is an elderly man, his hair and beard silvered with age. His posture seems crooked in an uncomfortable way under his long burgundy robe, even when his body straightens from the greeting Lyanna finds entirely unwarranted.

„My princess.“ The maester repeats in a soft voice that carries a lilt of urgency. „I assume you are here to see about the progress of ointments her grace the queen had ordered on your behalf. I am terribly regretful to say they have not yet been procured. As soon as they are, I will have my acolyte...“

„What ointments?“ Lyanna lets herself ask before the man has a chance of passing out from the rushed breaths the rapid succession of his words claimed. There must have been some kind of misunderstanding going on, she thought.

„The ointments her grace ordered for my princess, of course. My queen gave strict instructions; it is the same kind of medication that is issued in the...well, in the case of her grace's needs. It shall work fairly well on my princess' injuries if I daresay.“ The maester folded his hands as his eyes cast down.

Lyanna felt her hand shooting up to her face, her fingertips trailed over the fading bruise on her cheek that was still sore if touched. She could also feel the rough ridges of one of the small scabs formed to heal red scratches on both her cheeks and one on her chin. The scratches were hardly deep and Lyanna had no worry it would scar; she didn't even give it any thought.

„Thank you.“ she stammered. „I had no knowledge of it. You and the queen are terribly kind.“

The maester inclines his head. „'Tis my duty, my princess. Is there something else you needed my services for then?“

Lyanna takes a breath. „Yes. Recently I suffered a head injury. Even it has been almost a fortnight, I still sometimes feel dizzy so...“

„Please, my princess.“ The maester moves so his body is no longer obstructing the doors to his chambers. When he waves a hand, Lyanna gives a slight nod to the man as she picks up her skirts and lets herself in. She takes a moment to look about her, study the spacious chambers that serve as the maester's place of work. She sees dimly colored glass bottles of various shapes and sizes keeping their place within a tall, wooden instalment, likely containing different kinds of medication. An open black leather case in on display as well, seemingly holding various metal instruments.

A tall, examining table with crisp white sheets holds its place before her, and with the maester's silent suggestion, Lyanna moves, slightly shifting her weight on it as her eyes watch about with wonder.

„Is the dizziness the only symptom, my princess?“ The maester asks of her softly and Lyanna clears her throat.

„Well, no. I also feel my muscles carrying a general weakness, and I sometimes feel nauseous. A lot of it is akin to seasickness, I traveled by sea recently...“

„If the cause were the sea, my princess, your ails would have subsided as soon as you reached firm land.“ The maester explains calmly, folding his hands together. „If you allow me a couple more questions, my princess. Is there a particular time of day when you feel these symptoms the strongest?“

Lyanna lets herself think; her stomach had been rather obedient this morning, but much less so the previous days. „I shall say in the morning, although it is possible I do not notice well.“

The maester quickly nods. „What of any other symptoms, my princess? Do you feel any changes in your mood or any peculiar tenderness to your body?“

She'd felt rather overwhelmed the past few days, but that was certainly due to the stress of her lost memories. Lyanna thought little of it. „I am not sure. My breasts feel tender and swollen though, but that always happens just before I get my moon's blood...“

„When was the last such has occurred, my princess? If you recall.“

Lyanna lingers on it for an instant. She remembers Oberyn's sly remark about her being with child, she remembers thinking she had her moon's blood the month before and that it should have come then. With all the turbulation that ensued, she never realized it didn't...“'Tis been almost two months.“ She lets herself breathe softly.

The maester murmurs quietly. „It is my belief that you are with child, my princess. Of course, we should wait a couple days longer to see if your moon's blood being belated is a sign of stress which is entirely possible, but your symptoms lead me to believe you are carrying.“

„But that is...“ _completely possible._

 Likely noting the bewilderment on her features, the maester asks. „Forgive me, my princess, but has your marriage been consummated?“

„Yes.“ She simply answers. _If only he knew._ Even if she had been separated from Rhaegar for days, the time they spent together on the road and then in the tower, it had been more than enough to get her with child. But if it were indeed so, wouldn't she have lost the babe when she fell? Thinking to the possibility of it, Lyanna felt something in her chest tighten.

„Maester?“ She calls to the other man who seemed lost in thoughts for an instant; the lively eyes atop the long, aged face snap back to the sound of her voice.

Lyanna starts softly. „If I were indeed with child, it would have to be that way for at least a month or so, correct?“ The maester confirms the truthfulness of her words with no more than a nod.

„I...suffered some kind of trauma during that time then. If so, is it possible that the babe was hurt?“ Lyanna heard stories of women who hadn't even known they were with child before they realized they've lost it. She doesn't even realize her hand rests on her midriff until she looks down.

„'Tis very unlikely, my princess. Had the fall hurt the babe in any way, in such an early stage, your body would have expelled it. The mother's body often rejects the babe in case of distress as it works to its own protection, but such a thing always comes with a sign. If there had been no bleeding of any kind, for now it is safe to say the babe is thriving.“

 _Thank the gods._ Lyanna wasn't even sure her womb indeed quickened with life, but she still felt an immense sense of dread at the thought she might have carried a seed, a plant of Rhaegar's love for her and that it fell. Suddenly she feels any additional wonderings, questions she might have had of the maester to be pointless. She did not wish to be here, she wanted him...

Stormy grey eyes looking up, Lyanna took a deep breath before she spoke. „Thank you, maester.“

„'Tis nothing more than my duty, my princess.“ The maester replies calmly as he gives a small bow. „If you have any questions or worries, do not hesitate to call for me. I would recommend you pay additional attention to your meals being healthy, there are also some weeds and supplements we can add if needed.“

Lyanna gives a small nod to the man before she makes her way out the doors and into the hallway. There, before she even has a chance to make her first steps, she sees Oswell.

„My princess.“ The knight bows to her and Lyanna is stunned for a second. Surely, the reappearance of the knight had not been terribly surprising but Lyanna still felt her head reeling with news clinging to her even as she left the maester's office.

„Ser Oswell.“ She breathes softly after a moment. „I am glad to see you return. But with your excuses, I must go speak with Rhaegar...“

„Of course, my princess.“ The knight bows dutifully. „If you would allow me to accompany you.“

Lyanna gives a small nod before she takes lead in the hallway.

* * *

 

„My prince...I...I am afraid that is not possible.“ Arthur stammered. The knight's eyes had been red-rimmed, bewildered, wide with...disbelief? Rhaegar wasn't sure. It resembled some nameless, incomprehensible emotion to him more than anything else. He lingers on that thought uncomfortably as he rises straight.

„Arthur, what is it? Tell me.“ He heard himself finally ask, the stillness of his voice hardly relaying the dread that crawled into his bones. Then, silence, a terribly crushing one. He does not think he can bear it any longer. For an instant, Rhaegar felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to put his hands firmly on the other man's shoulders and shake him until a coherent answer fell out.

„Arthur?“ He prompts in a lower voice instead. The force he very much intended behind the word had been lost. „Just tell me!“ He screams in the next moment.

 The loudness reverberating seems to have shaken the other knight from his self-inflicted daze. Purple eyes snap up but the sight does absolutely nothing to ease his soul.

„My prince, I wish there was a different way to say it, more than all I wish I do not have to say it at all.“ Arthur's head lowers; his voice is thin and yet cutting sharper than a shard of glass. „Princess Elia and Prince Aegon are dead.“

„Dead?“ Rhaegar repeats the word, like it's some strange assemblage of syllables, something he had never heard or spoken of in his entire life.

„I am so sorry, my friend. Maegor's Holdfast has suffered a great accident. The fire caught and the smoke spread out through the ventilation. The fire had been put out before it reached the princess' chambers, but the smoke....they never woke up.“

Rhaegar's face had paled, he leaned against the edge of the table for support. His knuckles turned white from gripping the wooden surface. Arthur was still talking, why was he still talking?

„It is believed the fire started in the Mad King's chambers. It was the only room that completely burned out. My prince, you are now a king.“

Rhaegar swallowed hard, he still couldn't believe his ears. His sweet son, his kind and darling wife, they were dead. Dead by the hand of the madman in whose castle they resided through a fault of his own. All this time, Rhaegar had believed them safe. He'd believed his presence was not necessary, he had trusted no harm would come to them. How wrong had he been, how wrong.  It were his actions, his convictions that dug a premature grave to his wife and their babe.

„Rhaenys?“ He finds the strength within himself to ask. It is weak and it is faint but the other knight seems to understand.

„Princess Rhaenys is completely healthy. She had been in her own chambers when the incident occurred."

The information leaves him dull. He does not think and he does not feel a thing beside an excruciating need for air. The whole tower felt suffocating, he wanted to get away, he needed to get away. Mindlessly moving to make steps, Rhaegar found his friend standing in his way. He only spares him a glance, but it seems to be enough for the knight to clear the path. Rhaegar wonders what it is that the other man saw in his eyes.

The thought does not linger for long; his mind is a blur that lets him notice nothing other than his surroundings turning into a long hall. His eyes concentrate on the soft patterns in the pavement. The sight before him is blurry in its own way; it takes him more than a moment to grasp why. When his mind returns to comprehensive thoughts or rather a single one, Rhaegar wishes it hadn't happened.

  _I failed them, and now they are dead..._

„Rhaegar.“ He heard a gentle voice, felt a soft touch of a pale hand on his chest, trying to bring him to a halt. He looked at her, and as soon as he did, the guilt crushed into him again with full force. The woman he loved, the object of his affections, the source of his selfishness...the loving look in her eyes that Rhaegar did not feel like he deserved...he walked past her not looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit darker tone to this chapter, I did try to lessen the body count in respect to canon but keeping Elia's death was important for future points :( Do let me know how you feel of the development(s).


	37. About a Lioness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate warning and apology for a lack of R+L. We're moving to King's Landing for a chapter :)

„What a dreadful event.“ Crooned Cersei behind her teeth, mostly for herself. When the bells ringing upon the morrow woke her up, signifying that the Stranger had once again taken what he was bound to take from everyone sooner or later, Cersei had no care of who it was that had died as long as it wasn't Jaime. Or at the very least, the lioness thought her cares would be misplaced until she learned it was easily the three most important figures residing in the castle that were lost to the cruel fate. The Mad King had finally succumbed to the infamous Targaryen madness, dying in a hue of that which he loved the most – fire.

Even now, the remnants of his lifeless body burned and charred in a great funeral pyre, and everyone in his kingdoms had greater business than to observe the dull process, including his son and prince of whose reappearance there had been no trace. Even in death, he managed to torture his heir, dragging his wife and their babe into an early death. Poor prince Rhaegar, Cersei found herself thinking. Even if he would most certainly marry again, and have another heir and plenty more children of as great of beauty as himself, her sensitive prince must have been shaken by these news reaching him.

Cersei crossed her hands gracefully, her long black sleeves like wings alongside her, and bowed her head feigning what she hoped to be a believable face of sorrow, as another entourage of half a dozen ladies of lesser houses passed her in a huff of black silk and tissues. The whole mourning procession was starting to take a toll on her nerves; most of these women were feigning anyway and even if they felt any bit of sorrow, it was for the little princeling who much trilled the entire court with his appearances uncannily resembling his father's.

 Princess Elia herself had not been terribly beloved even if she wasn't hated, most women either envied her or looked to her with pity, depending on how they perceived her relations with the prince to be. Cersei herself felt a bit of both, but pity and distaste became more pronounced the more time she spent in the late princess' vicinity. Even when Rhaegar left, no one had anything less than grand words for him, while they blamed the princess for not having a sufficient hold on his attentions. 

 _What a bizarre fate_ , Cersei mused to herself. Just when the woman was about to become queen, she vanished in the night alongside her son in the wake of toxic smoke. Leaving the former Prince, now King, widowed and without a heir. A perfect opportunity in the making it was. Any of these women would gladly be in her vacated shoes given half the chance. Alas, prince Rhaegar would look to none of them or their poor house standings, short of herself, of course. Feeling such thoughts forced her lips shape into a smirk, she touched her laced black handkerchief to her nose.

Cersei needn't speak to her father to know just how she should take advantage of the situation. Just like that, all thoughts of Robert Baratheon evaporated from her head. _Queen you shall be_ , Maggy the Frog's voice crooned in her head, as distinct and ominous as the first time she'd heard it. She would be queen, and her children would have gold as their crowns, because they would be little princes and princesses. And what a queen she will be! Not only the queen, mother to the King's heir. Her children would be beautiful, magnificent lions with silver and gold decorating their manes and her eldest son would sit on the Iron Throne, as great and mighty as his father. All she needed to do was play her cards right.

Her accomplishing this goal of hers would certainly finally show her father that she was deserving of his attentions and legacy. Jaime might have had a cock between his legs, but their fathers warnings and teachings an heir ought to have been absorbing of had always been lost on him. Jaime never truly understood politics or power, he thought all his problems could be solved with a sword. Cersei on the other hand, understood that far more subtle weapons existed, particularly in a woman's arsenal. A woman, if charming and fair enough, could have enough grasp on her husband for him to do as she bidded at just a blink of her eye. And if her husband was the King himself, and one worthy of awe and respect, she could be the greatest queen who had ever lived.

Soon enough, everyone will forget of the frail and sickly bronze-skinned princess that did not deserve a spot in the King's heart anyway, and she would be the new star of the Red Keep, shining bright alongside a mighty dragon.

Thinking of stars, Cersei spotted a pair of familiar sad violet eyes turned away from her, damp with tears that threatened to spill over. She might have just been the only woman truly upset by the events of last night; with Elia dead, little was left for her in the capital.

„Lady Ashara.“ Cersei walked over and gently leaned a hand against the other woman's shoulder, a gesture at which the other woman seemed to have winced. Looking upon her face, Cersei could see her eyes were red-rimmed, puffy and likely exhausted with tears. The woman herself had been pale, even the color in her full, typically pink lips seemed to have faded into an unhealthy color. Cersei found it odd, Lady Ashara certainly took care of her appearance under normal circumstances and could have even been said to have been pretty. Not as pretty as herself, but those heavy-lidded purple eyes of hers certainly worked as her charm when she wasn't bawling them out. 

In the next second, her lips tightened into a straight line, one that very much told Cersei her presence was unwelcome. Nonetheless, she reached to pull the other woman into an embrace for appearances more than for anything else, but Ashara stayed stiff, her body pulling back.

„Excuse me, my lady.“ Lady Ashara said flatly before she turned around in a huff of black heavy-looking fabric that seemed wide and ill-fitted. Her dark tresses spilling down her shoulders, moving slightly with the mild wind, she hurriedly made her way across the gardens.

Cersei's lips tightened with a spark of rage as she blinked watching after the other woman; no one brushed her off. She knew her friendship with lady Ashara was shaky at best, and could better be called forced companionship.Cersei had been as pleasant as she could have been, but feigning never came quite as easy to her as she wished it did. Even then, Lady Ashara had never treated her with anything less than courtly manners. _And the way she walked, like she had a purpose._

Finding her behavior suspicious and herself intrigued, Cersei decided to gracefully make her way after the other woman. As Ashara disappeared behind the tall, thick bushes that permeated the castle gardens in which the wake was held, Cersei did as well, casually noting that no one was following _her_. She was almost discovered as she stepped on a branch that snapped loudly but luckily for her, she found cover believable enough for lady Ashara to turn back and seeing nothing, continue walking through the garden maze.  

 Cersei peaked from behind a particularly large array of leaves and flowers, quietly scoffing as her golden tresses caught onto a near by small branch. Disentangling the hairs, she looked to the sight of Lady Ashara approaching the steady, white-armored figure of Ser Barristan. _What did she intend, talking to the knight?_

Unable to hear the words exchanged, Cersei felt her forehead frown with disappointment. Just as well, it likely was nothing of import but it wasn't like she had better things to do. That thought did not last long unchallenged, as the purple lady handed the knight what seemed to be a letter and curtsied. Looking around, eyes wide, she started her retreat, steps quick as she made her way back, taking a different route through the gardens.

 _A letter? A letter for whom?_ Cersei found herself musing. Who did that woman had to write to? Likely to her brother, Ser Arthur, the glorious knight in the prince's or rather the king's service. _But what did she want?_ Cersei felt her nostrils expanding as she had a thoroughly unpleasing thought, one that Lady Ashara was after the same thing she was. Mayhap she thinks her closeness with the late princess or her remaining daughter, or her brother's closeness to the king would serve as an incentive in his considerations of a second wife. Nay, she would not have it. She waited so long for this day, she'd already lost the prince once to princess Elia. Now, with her death, Cersei was granted a second chance and gods would be damned if she would fail to make use of it. She had to find out what was in that letter, lest she be intercepted by a guaranteed flurry of other women with similar aspirations.

* * *

 

„Are you insane? How am I supposed to get a hold of that letter?“ Jaime frowns and Cersei already feels herself getting exasperated. She had no time for this dance she felt she was forced to perform lately, endlessly persuading her brother to do as she asked. He was supposed to be loyal to her and he questioned her at every turn. His head seemed thicker than a brick wall ever since he'd joined the Kingsguard.

She shakes her head as her hands settle on her hips. „Aren't you both in the Kingsguard? How am I supposed to know; watch him, search about his room, wait until he sheds his clothes, do whatever you like. Just find out what is in that letter.“

„And if I don't?“ He asked, his golden brows raised in defiance as his arm rests against the sword on his hip.

„What do you mean, if you don't?“ Cersei scoffs. She looks around for other people before she snarls at him. „Well, maybe you've liked having access to my bedchambers for a little too long then.“

„Oh Jaime, oh, yes, yes right there!“ He mocks in a high voice and she moves to shush him, terrified someone might hear. There's a smirk left on his face as green eyes watch to ones alike.

„Dear sister, that excuse is getting old. You want me as much as I want you, and you pretending it isn't so just so you can get me to do your bidding is getting old. If you tell me why you would ask such a ridiculous thing of me, I might just help you. Otherwise, find it out yourself. Don't you women gossip?“

„Fine.“ Cersei relents unhappily as her hands twirl before her. „I want to know what is in that letter for I want to make sure 'tis not that which I fear it might be. What do you think, that I will just sit here and wait for another woman to make her first movements toward being Rhaegar's queen?“

Jaime gives a small chuckle as he shifts on his heels. Cersei felt she might as well strike him this fine morning. „So that is what is going on in your head? Are you insane? You think she is as tasteless as you, to speak of such a thing before the late princess has been even put to rest?“

„Like you are so honorable.“ Cersei lifts her nose. „That white armor of yours might fool others, but not me. I do what I have to. And whether you believe it or not, dear brother, other people look out for their interests as much as we do. We might as well be good at it. So, be a dear and get me that letter.“

This time, she knows better than to wait for another denial. „You won't regret it.“ She whispers to his ear, lips brushing his earlobe as her hand rests in the crook of his arm.

As she walks away, sparing another glance back turning, she sees him standing in the same place. If she knows him well, and she knows him as much as she knows herself, he is cursing his love for her right now. Little good would it do him, for her hold on him wouldn't cease, not now and not ever.


	38. About a Queen

Lyanna gave herself a once over in the looking glass; the white beads of her grey and white dress embroidered in the shape of a direwolf shone and sparkled under the morning light. She had been overwhelmed with elation to find it among hers and Rhaegar's things Ser Oswell transported back from Dorne. It had been the only dress from home that she had with her; she'd worn it that day in Riverrun, the day she'd escaped the king's men only to be reunited with Rhaegar. It had stayed untouched ever since; while the dry, heavy Dornish air did not allow her to don anything other than silks, she was glad to learn that Dragonstone climate had been much more forgiving to her dress of heavier cotton.

This morning, Lyanna had dressed in quite a similar fashion as she used to at home, short of letting a fur-lined cloak warm her shoulders. Straightening out the fabric, Lyanna let her hand ghost over her still very flat midriff. Her shiny dark hair was tussled and turned in its now short wild locks, a harsh contrast to her ivory complexion. Biting on them softly, Lyanna thought her lips seemed as red as they did when exposed to the harsh coldness of the North. It brought her a strange measure of comfort; reminding herself that she was a Stark, that she indeed had a home and belonged somewhere as did the dragonwolf pup within her belly. Without a dragon, a dragon's den was far too much an unknown place for a she-wolf to take true comfort in.

 Her initial impressions of this place had been promising much like they were of Dorne, and yet, spending enough time in both places, Lyanna found any such was worth to her only as much as she could share the joy of it with someone she loved. Seeing the frame of her bed in the reflection of the mirrors right now reminded her how her sheets had never seemed so cold, her bed so endless and vacant like the previous nights. As guilty as such thoughts made her feel, Lyanna could not deny that it was Rhaegar's presence that she so desired.

From what she heard whispered that day, Rhaegar had left the tower upon hearing the news, not allowing anyone to go with him, only to return in the middle of the night and retreat in his chambers, refusing meals and company. The only person who had talked to him in that time was Ser Arthur who had exited the chambers right after Rhaegar walked passed her like a ghost, and explained to her the source of his sorrow. It was something that shocked Lyanna and left her numb. Truth be told, she did not know princess Elia well. All she knew was what could be derived from the handful of times she had seen her from afar, and the most Lyanna could note were the grace and tranquility with which the princess carried herself.

She did not dare think to the little prince suffocating in his sleep; the thought of innocent, fragile little creatures losing their lifeline made her heart clench and a hand go to her midriff. To think about what this loss meant to Rhaegar or how he had been feeling, it felt like a strange, foreign territory to Lyanna. Even thinking about it made her feel she was crossing some invisible line, that her immaturity was playing with something that was beyond her grasp. Those feelings made her reluctant from approaching him and offering him comfort, which had been her first instinct upon hearing the news.

Her mind went back to the time she received the news of Brandon imprisoned, how Rhaegar comforted her then, allowed her to lose her tears in his skin. Though such a thing could hardly be comparable, she felt a broken heart had only had one balm. It was how she was raised, how she learned the value of closeness and human comfort early on. Her first memory of loss, the death of her mother in a bed of blood had taught her that. The consolation had come from her brother's embraces, the sense of togetherness her father had instilled in them despite being of broken spirit himself.  And now she wanted to do the same for her love, but something stopped her.

The role she felt she played in the circumstances that had lead to the tragedy had Lyanna feeling strangely guilty and ashamed. While she had enjoyed Rhaegar's affections and touches, promises of eternal love, his first wife was in the clutches of the Mad King and it lead to her demise, her child's demise. She was sure that truth and the feeling of guilt wasn't lost on him either, that her presence could just as easily serve as an unpleasant reminder as it could offer solace. For this reason, Lyanna had stayed away, against all her instincts and yearning to give consolation.

Moping over his absence had been useless, even selfish in the wake of recent news, she knew, and yet such a notion did not help her get her mind off it in the slightest. It must have been the babe that made her heart so tender to the slightest things and even more to those less than slight, she thought; the maester warned her of the possibility of such a thing. Last night, she'd cried herself to sleep not even knowing the true cause to it. She just felt so frustrated, overwhelmed thinking he was all alone, suffering over this tragic thing that was not his fault when Lyanna knew he saw it as such and tears started flowing, flooding his pillows. Her surprisingly intense emotional state along another fortnight passing bloodless turned her heavy suspicions into a firm conclusion. She was indeed with child.

Given everything, Lyanna hadn't much desire for leaving her chambers in the last days; atop of her concern for Rhaegar she felt a physical strain burdening her as well. She felt weak and feverish, even lacking in appetite which had seemed quite strange to her considering she expected her state would have her stuffing twice the normal food portions down her throat. A stir of hunger in her belly right now reminded her that this morning she awoke craving food, as well as filled with much desired relief and calm she lacked in the past days. Noting her mood brightening and her muscles claiming at least some of their strength back, Lyanna decided to make her way to the dining room through the brightly lit marble-paved hall and then down the stairs.

She knew better than to expect seeing anyone there, save for the servants and either Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell, if they happened to pass by. The queen herself had rushed back to King's Landing in the wake of the news, bringing her little boy with her. Lyanna's own belated introduction to Viserys had been less than joyful, for they met with him crashing into her skirts, losing his way with the tears that burned his red cheeks. The child had been too young to understand such a thing as death, Lyanna knew, which is why she concluded his sadness was much a spontaneous reflection of his mother's own.

Despite the queen's initially warm welcome, when Lyanna had offered to spend time with Viserys, comfort him, Rhaella had been rather adamant about not allowing such a thing. Her eyes watched to her with sadness and reprimand and as much as Lyanna knew the queen's rage-turned anguish had been misplaced, she felt some sense could be found in holding her culpable. After all, all this could be traced back to hers and Rhaegar's actions. Had she done her duty, Rhaegar would never have to be absent from his family and were he not absent, he would be able to protect them. 

There was no true use thinking it, she knew, what was done was done. The guilt remained for, no matter the consequences, Lyanna struggled with truly seeing her being with Rhaegar as anything other than a positive thing. A better woman might have deeply regretted it all, but given the chance, Lyanna was not sure she wouldn't have done it all the same.

Expecting a void as she descended down the last stony steps into the dining hall, Lyanna felt herself taken aback as her eyes fell to a frail-looking figure with cascading locks of auburn hair down her back. The woman in question turned around in a huff of violet silk and upon her lilac orbs falling on Lyanna, her face seemed to contort into a grimace. Lyanna recognized her as Ashara Dayne, as well as noted the woman's puffy cheeks and watery eyes, evidence of tears she was trying to hide.  What, however, took her by a bigger surprise was the other woman's rounded belly.

 „Lady Lyanna. Or should I say queen.“ Were the first words out of her mouth, dry and solemn. Lyanna winced for a second at her new title, she didn't want it. As far as she was concerned, it was coated in blood and it seemed the other woman recognized this as well. Nothing else could have been expected, Ashara Dayne had been one of princess Elia's ladies-in-waiting and closer companions. That much Lyanna had learned seeing them strut around together at the happenings of Harrenhal. 

„Lady Ashara, I wasn't aware you were here.“ Lyanna suddenly felt dizzy, she moved slowly to take a seat at the dining table. As she did she motioned with her hand for Ashara to join her. She just shook her head and kept her stance, red-rimmed eyes studying the other's woman's lithe form.

„Yes, well my brother had seen fit to summon me here for the birth of my child.“ Lyanna just nodded, she understood Ser Arthur had a commitment and he probably wanted to keep his sister close for her protection. To the best of her knowledge, Lady Ashara wasn't married which meant she and her child would be left to the mercy of her father. Lyanna however, knowing Ser Arthur did not doubt for a second that such a man held affection for and would protect his sister if necessary.

Feeling an awkwardness seeping into the situation, Lyanna reached out with a trembling hand for a glass of water.

„It that a direwolf embedded into your dress?“ Asked Ashara, noting the intricate pattern of the Northern-styled gown, not afraid of regarding the other woman's looks openly. Lyanna had been confused at the sudden turn of conversation but she simply answered.

„It is. Direwolf is the sigil of my house. Quite a few of my dresses carry some reference to them.“

Another beat of silence. Lyanna fidgeted with her hands nervously in her lap, she felt she should say something to address the elephant in the room.

„Lady Ashara.“ Lyanna started timidly, with a certain carefulness and warmth drifting into her voice. When the other woman's hard deep violet eyes met hers, she sighed and continued. „I want to offer my condolences for your loss. I understand if you feel like 'tis not the most appropriate coming from me but...“

„But what, Lady Lyanna?“ The other woman interrupted her, a mixture of anguish and contempt could be heard in her voice.“You are a wolf, are you not? And as my experience taught me, wolves only care for themselves and their pack. Anyone else isn't worthy of regard. Do you think your condolences can change anything? Turn the past around, return Elia and her son into this world? Nay my lady. You are just trying to make yourself feel better. And you are in a position to do so. Just do not forget that it was another woman's place that you took.“

Lyanna swallowed hard at the attack; she felt offended at the woman's words, feeling very much like a meek pup under her crude regard. Mostly because she herself had recognized many of those things to be true. And while Lyanna could have gracefully taken it all into stride if it were just offense directed at her from a clearly distraught woman, the offense implied to her house would get a different response from her. She cleared her throat and rose from her seat, circling around the rich wooden table and leaning against it, so that she was face to face with the other woman.

„You are upset for losing your friend, I understand that. But I don't have the faintest idea of what this has to do with my family. If you wish to blame someone, blame me. But leave my family out of it. They have not done anything wrong.“

This provoked a chuckle from Ashara, which made Lyanna's eyes fix on hers again in wonderment. For a split second it occured to her the woman had lost her mind.

„My lady, do you know whose child I'm carrying?“ The question was to Lyanna's mind completely unrelated. „Nay, I believe I do not.“

„'Tis your honorable brother's. You pray my lady, that other people might not judge your family by your and Brandon Stark's actions.“

„Brandon?“ Lyanna asked softly as she blinked once then twice, she couldn't believe it. She didn't want such things spoken about her brother, but what reason could Lady Ashara have for lying? Lyanna knew that women had been his weakness, maybe better than anyone. She had often made excuses for him before their father, much understanding his fierce defending of herself from other men's advances was in recognition of a kindred nature. She had also only feigned to not see longing looks Lady Ashara had sent his way during the tourney at Harrenhal...

„Yes, your brother Brandon. He disgraced me under the guise of love. Promised me the moon and the stars until he got what he wanted. And then tossed me aside like a dirty rag. Something me and my darling friend had in common. You know, Elia had never gotten over it truly. The distance Rhaegar put between them. But she had tolerated for she had to. She believed him to be an honest man, someone who would do the right thing by her and their children even if his feelings for her did not surpass friendly affection. But he had left his family nest in favor of a wolf lair.“

„Ashara, that's enough. Get back to your room.“ An authoritative voice could be heard from the room doors, both women's heads turned to to the sight of an exhasperated Ser Arthur clutching the dark iron doorknob. Seeing the knight, Lyanna was sure her face held something that resembled relief. Ashara on the other hand, just held her head even higher, her eyes strict, trained on her brother's face. He however, did not give in.

His gaze held every bit of intensity hers did as he walked forward into the room with a clack of white armor, and Ashara realized she was fighting a lost battle. Her brother was a white cloak before anything else, a protector of crowned heads. Even if it was a she-wolf's head that was decorated. Her posture defiant, Ashara nodded curtly to Lyanna and dashed past her brother and out of the room.

„Your Grace, I apologize for my sister's behavior...“ Arthur started but Lyanna put a hand up.

„It is of no import, no need to apologize. It is understandable, she is grieving. I do not hold it against her. And Ser Arthur, please call me Lyanna, not your grace, I have already told you.“ Lyanna forced a small smile to reinforce her point, even though her eyes were half-rimmed with tears; she didn't want Arthur to be upset over this.

Arthur could see she was more shook that she was willing to admit, but he thought it unwise to press the issue. Instead he inclined his head with a small smirk. „Very well, Lyanna. I must ask if you are feeling well; one of your handmaidens had come to me, concerned for your health. She said you haven't been leaving your chambers lately.“

„No, I am well.“ Lyanna brushed off the concern; she still felt strange over the involvement her handmaidens had in her. She wasn't accustomed to it in Winterfell and she wasn't sure she could get used to it now. Although, it was a concern better left for another time, Lyanna had heavier stones weighing down her heart.

Folding her hands nervously, she continued.„Ser Arthur, I admit I do not know...I mean I assume you were personally shaken by what happened. I guess what I want to say is that in such case, I am sorry for your loss.“

„Thank you, my lady.“ Arthur nodded politely. His head rising in the next instant with a thought, the knight added, his voice higher. „Forgive me if I'm stepping out of my place, but have you been to see the King yet?“

 _The King._ Lyanna had thought it strange, much in the same vein she thought her being a queen was strange. She gulped and shook her head.„No.“ Stammering, Lyanna felt herself wanting to continue, not even sure why she was confessing this to the other man. Mayhap it was for he was the next soul closest to Rhaegar as well as exceedingly kind toward her, Lyanna looked to him as a friend rather than a mere knight in Rhaegar's service. „I wanted to, but I felt it might not be right. I figured if he wanted my comfort, he would come to me. I don't want to make him feel forced to share his grief.“

Arthur just solemnly nodded. A lesser woman would not have such concerns, but Arthur had never thought Lyanna for an ordinary woman.

„Although...“ Lyanna had continued with a small tremble in her voice and Arthur regarded her with a small trace of sorrow in his own deep indigo eyes.

„I would appreciate if you would tell him something for me, but only if you feel is appropriate.“ Her watering gaze met his and he simply nodded. Lyanna sniffled quietly; as much as she was trying to rein in her emotions, her heart wouldn't cooperate.

„Uhm, tell him that I think of him a lot, and that I am here for him, in case he would like my company.“

„Will do, my lady.“ Arthur answered as he bowed deeply, silently keeping his own impressions for himself as he had so often done.


	39. A Dragon's Wound

Sitting on the dark-stoned floor of the faraway chamber which served as his place of obscurity, Rhaegar roused as he felt his head fall between his knees. His stiff neck aching, he felt tired; he was exhausted really. Dwelling on the subject, he realized he honestly couldn't tell what time of day it was. With the curtains drawn, only allowing a scarce shine of the light, and the slow, dull flow of his thoughts, minutes, hours, days – all of it seemed to have melded one into the other. No rest would come for every time he would close his eyes, the images of Elia and his children would appear, torturing his soul and stealing his sleep. Taught by his own experience, Rhaegar had long given up tossing and turning in his bed in favor of the hard stony surface.

A tray with fruit was within his reach; even though he had hardly eaten a thing for the past few days, the food just didn't seem to hold any appeal to him. As he watched to the shining surface of a blood-red apple, disinterested, a soft knock on the door made his head snap up. Predictably, it was Arthur. Judging by the knight's expression, Rhaegar was sure he looked like death warmed over. His eyes must have been bloodshot from the lack of sleeping even if he hadn't shed a single tear, and not for a lack of trying.

For the last few days, he hadn't seen anyone else, and he had preferred it that way. The conversations with his friend, however, were an inescapable duty for even if Rhaegar wanted to crawl into a hole and die, the life outside those four walls continued. The Mad King was dead and new arrangements had to be made. The Iron Throne wasn't meant to be an empty chair. Most of it went down to arranging everything for his return and making sure the realm was in peace until the transition happened.

Arthur's soft voice drifted through the chambers. „My King, I apologize for bothering you, but we have received correspondence from Jon Connington.“

Rhaegar looked up at his friend, sullen indigo eyes urging him to continue. Arthur could note the red-rimmed eyes and the pallor of his friend's face. Rhaegar had never been the most exuberant of souls, taking solace in his melancholy more often than not, but he still managed to crack a smile every now and again, and even more since he'd met Lady Lyanna. Despite of it, considering their life-long friendship, the knight could not remember ever seeing him in a worse state. Arthur knew his friend and king had his own, mayhap peculiar ways of dealing with sorrow, but they didn't seem to be doing him any good in this particular instance.

„He has received your letter naming him your Hand. He is thankful for the position and is assuring you the capital will be in stable hands until your return. He had already taken the necessary military precautions if any of the great houses dare rebel in the midst of transition. A meeting of the Small Council was also called to discuss the necessary conditions for your return and subsequent coronation of you and the queen.“

When such a thing did not provoke a significant reaction, Arthur continued cautiously, eyes trained on Rhaegar's averted ones. „And as you know, Your Grace, your betrothal and much less your marriage to Lady Lyanna have not yet been made public. Jon Connington advises that it is best to keep your marriage a secret, at least for another six moons or so. Considering princess Elia had just recently passed, a grieving period before the realm should pass before you announce having a new wife.“

A soft sigh tore from Rhaegar as his head lowered. „I thought he would write something like that. Arthur, I am sick of lying, sick of hiding her, shaming her this way.“

„You are best advised to take into account your hand's opinion, Your Grace.“ Arthur returned softly. „I know it is not what you wish for, and I know you wish to have Lady Lyanna by your side as soon as possible, but her safety as well as the strength of your allegiances should be paramount. You should not risk worsening your already aggravated relationship with Dorne. After the mourning period passes, you can make the announcement public, make a feast for the entire realm to learn of their queen. But for the time being, 'tis best the information is kept among people you can trust. Lord Rickard should likely be informed...“

Rhaegar's dry voice interrupted. „I have already asked Lord Rickard to keep the news for himself until an opportune time. What about the Dorne correspondence, have we received any word?“

Arthur sighed and Rhaegar knew just what that sigh meant. „I am sad to say that Prince Doran is blaming you for the incident. However he is understandably upset and I'm sure in time he will see....“

„Of course he is upset, Arthur.“ The defeated voice of his King saddened Arthur. „He has every right to be. It was my fault and I will never be able to make it right. It was a gross injustice done to them. One that I could have prevented but failed to. Do you think Dorne wants a King like that? How about when they find out they already have a new queen?“

Arthur understood the desperation, but he also knew what a terrible strategic ally it made. „With all respect, my King, you are confusing that which is personal with that which is political. You need the Dorne's allegiance, and you should do everything that can be done to preserve it. You cannot let Prince Doran find a way to profit from this situation, even if you feel it would soothe your guilty conscience. You have lady Lyanna to think about, she will be in a not very admirable position after your marriage comes to the light of day...“

„Don't you think I know that?“ Yelled Rhaegar in frustration as his indigo eyes burned into Arthur's, much like his own. He took a deep breath and quietly continued.

„ I have failed the woman I had a duty to, I will not fail the one I love. I will keep the promises I gave her so help me...“

„Then you need to get on with your life. You cannot dwell in the past, you cannot dwell upon your mistakes. This is a critical time and you cannot afford to lock yourself away. You need solace and being a prisoner inside your own guilty mind will not help with that.“

Arthur sighed again, feeling like he was about to play matchmaker. „Lady Lyanna had asked me to tell you she is there for you if you wish for her company. While it's certainly not my place, I think you should take her up on that offer.“

„How will I look her in the eye?“ Asked Rhaegar with a softness that Arthur had heard on only the rarest occasions from his friend. He shifted uncomfortably, for he always saw the matters of heart to be far more complex and delicate than any man who had never truly experienced it could understand.

 „My King, you know me, I am not a romantic. I don't believe in the love at first sight, stars in someone's eyes thing. At least I didn't until I witnessed it but even I know...Anyway, my point is, you look at her the same way you always looked at her. And she will see the same man she always sees, albeit with sadness and guilt which she will want to soothe away. Just let her comfort you.“

* * *

 

A drop after drop of water silked her lean body as it fell from the jagged edges of her hair. Lyanna attempted to rise from the marble bathtub secured on gilded legs her handmaidens have angled into her room at her request, but her limbs didn't seem to want to cooperate. As soon as she gripped the slippery edge for support, she felt faint and lightheaded, and she fell back on her knees. She had a thought to call one of her handmaidens in, but what was she going to tell her, that she couldn't rise from a pool of water by herself? She was sure it would spring panic and soon enough she would have an army of maesters at her throat, making public that which she desired to keep for herself.

The truth was Lyanna knew the cause of her ailment, but she thought it preferable to keep it a secret for the time being. The one person she wanted to tell wasn't in a position where he could hear the news and receive them with a joy in his heart that rivaled hers, and she very much wanted him to. Lyanna was going to wait, but that didn't mean it was going to come easy to her. Omission at times seemed more taxing than any outright lie could ever be.

As a child, Lyanna had no problem spouting unbelievable tales to her father if it meant keeping her brothers out of trouble, and they did all the same for her. With that thought, a small smile sprang on her lips. This felt differently though; instead of giving her that playful sense of secret allegiance she would feel every time she conspired with her brothers against her father's wishes, she felt out cold and alone in her realization. _Maybe not that alone afterall_ , she thought as she rested a hand on her flat midriff.

Brandon was usually the one who needed the most of her undeniable support in his claims before their lord father, Lyanna mused, taking a moment to remember their childhood. While when they were younger, most of Brandon's follies were serious to the extent a prank involving sour milk could be, the more he grew, the more his behavior became a true concern for their lord father. Thinking on it briefly, Lyanna realized such a thought applied to both of them. Perhaps that was where the most of their similarities lay, why both of them found trouble anywhere they went.

Lyanna wondered if Lady Ashara being pregnant was common knowledge, even more she wondered if it were something known by their lord father. Brandon had not lost his heart to this girl, that Lyanna could be sure of just by knowing him. If Lady Ashara was to be believed, Brandon had his silver tongue do his bidding  when it came to seducing her into lying with him. Lyanna had no issue imagining such a thing, after all, her eyes had witnessed it for themselves multiple times. Despite realizing the folly of her brother in the given situation, Lyanna could not help but feel protective of him. He was her brother, he was _Brandon_ , she didn't have it in herself to judge him. And yet, Lyanna felt for Lady Ashara, and not just for the recent loss of her close friend.

Seeing her for the first time upon her arrival, noting the curve of her belly, Lyanna had a simple thought, _It could have been me_. What if she had lost her head at the sight of a man less honorable than Rhaegar, one who was far less taken with her than she was with him? Lyanna had her doubts about how well she would be able to recognize and avoid such a trap, she had even more doubts of her capacities of controlling herself in such a situation. Her maidenhead staying untouched until her wedding night was only in debt to Rhaegar's insistence on it. Had she not gone to his tents that fateful night, nearly begging him to take her, without him even making any promises? A lesser man might have just taken her up on that offer and she could have been with child out of wedlock. Had Rhaegar been another kind of a man, Lyanna's own destiny might have been markedly different.

Considering it all, Lyanna felt compassion for the purple-eyed lady who fell into disgrace following her heart. Mayhap there was something to be done to her cause, she hoped. Forgetting his own situation for half a heartbeat, it occurred to Lyanna how it might be wise to speak on the issue with Rhaegar, hear his own thoughts. Such a thing would have to wait, she decided. Even if Brandon, as an heir to Winterfell, could not fully take responsibility for this child nor wed its mother, Lyanna could likely act to assure the lady and her child would not stay unprotected. The child would be her niece or nephew, she just then realized, and one of close age to her own babe. The thought was much brighter than any previous ones, and it made her heart at least a bit lighter in her chest.   

Touching her thumb to her fingertips, realizing she had stayed under the warm water for quite a while, Lyanna tried again to sit up before her consciousness had any time to play tricks on her. This time she easily climbed out, skin glistening and slippery as she searched for her silk bathrobe. Finding the lilac garment, Lyanna slipped it over her lithe form, finding the fabric clinging to her skin where the wet pools had not yet dried. With a wave of warmth coursing through her as she walked over to her bed, it took her no more than a couple of seconds to decide she would not require a shift.

The incessant Southron sun warmed all things in its reach by day; it would be silly to expect it to stop at the walls of the she-wolf's chambers. Disentangling herself from the expensive silk again, Lyanna slipped naked under the light covers. Although she had a million things on her mind, past, present and future exciting her as a passing thought of loneliness saddened her, as soon as her head hit the pillow scattering her damp locks around, she found sleep.

* * *

 

Rhaegar walked down the hall with a purpose, his body covered with no more than a dark unlaced tunic and breeches. His path through the shadowed, marbled hall was eased with the light of candles embedded in the stony walls. Once again trying to will his dreams to take him after he was left alone, Rhaegar realized such a thing was next to impossible. Arthur's words had stayed imprinted on him, haunting him, and halfway through the night, he felt himself pulled to Lyanna's chambers.

Finally reaching her bedchamber which was positioned at the end of a long hall, he nodded to the guard who was posed outside her doors as he slowly slipped in and closed the door wing with a mild screech. Lyanna didn't seem to stir from her slumber as he made slow steps forward, slowly resting his weight on her bed beside her. As she lay on her side wrapped in a sheet, her pale features calmed with sleep were obscured by dark locks.

In a mindless moment, Rhaegar gently ran his hand through her scattered dark curls, lifting them away from her face. The movement seemed to have disturbed her some as she rolled over on her back, letting the sheet that covered her body drop. An involuntary gasp lodged itself in Rhaegar's throat at the sight. Reluctant to wake her, suddenly afraid of some indefinable thing, he stood and turned around to leave when a soft sleepy voice called out to him. In a matter of seconds he was back on the bed and her arms were gingerly pulling him down with her.

„Oh“ she gently breathed, her voice tender with relief. His arms wrapped tighter around her, causing them both to fall backwards. Although she was asleep just seconds ago, now Lyanna was fully aware of his presence, and all the fear of distance she didn't know she felt had melted away.

Something strange vibrated in her chest as she took in the complicated look on his face and Lyanna wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't sure she wanted to speak at all. Maybe he didn't want to either. It took her a moment to realize Rhaegar laid his head against her shoulder, that she could feel his breath faltering against her skin.

Feeling her warmth against his body, Rhaegar realized once again he loved her, wanted her and he could not punish himself any longer. Catharsis came in a form of big gasping sobs as she stroked his hair lovingly, willing her silver dragon to comfort and sleep.

 


	40. Upon the Morrow

Moving her arm over her face to protect from the protruding morning sunlight, Lyanna felt a yawn bubbling up on her lips. Before her other hand reaches to quell it, she realizes it rests, fingers intertwined,  in something unbelievably soft. Still sleepy, grey eyes glanced down to the sight of her husband's head lying in her lap.

Shifting her upper body softly, not wishing to wake him just yet as memories of last night rushed back to her mind, Lyanna angled her head forward so that she could cast a look upon his face. His fair features seemed calm with sleep, peaceful, as if he was having the nicest of dreams. It makes her feel relieved, the contrast to the silently devastated expression he bore last night. It was one that made her so desperate to say something that would bring him comfort, relief, and yet so frustrated having her tongue tied, knowing there were no such words.

Her hand went back to stroking his silver tresses idly, only pausing when she sensed a small semblance of a stir from his body, signifying that he was close to waking up. Lyanna bit her lip; she almost didn't want him to rouse. It seemed his dreams provided him with a greater comfort than anything of this world could. _Oh, he must have been so exhausted_ , she thought. Last night he fell asleep atop the sharpness of her shoulder, in between sobs it seemed to her, not even hitting the pillows only to somehow find his way to the comfort of her lap. Lyanna thought she had noticed such a thing before. Whenever Rhaegar was troubled, unsettled, he struggled finding sleep. At times, she would fall asleep in his arms, thinking him to be just as desirous of rest as she, only to wake to the sight of him sitting near by, lost in his thoughts.

A larger stir from him snaps her gaze down and her hand, atop his silver tresses, lifts. Head still leaning against her lap, he turns toward her and gives her a small, sleepy smile. Lyanna could not help but smile back.

„Did you sleep well?“ She brings herself to ask softly, even if it somehow feels wrong to speak. That feeling of wordlessness from last night, she remembers it acutely.

„Aye.“ Was his husky response as he moves to rise. For a moment, Lyanna thought with regret he would up and leave, perhaps because of how sudden his movements were. He proves her wrong when he keeps his weight on her bed, drawing closer to her on his knees. When his face evens in line with hers, he reaches to smooth a dark lock behind her ear.

Lyanna immediately felt herself leaning into the tender touch, moving so that his hand now cupped the side of her face. Feeling him there, his thumb softly strumming on her cheek, she could only now admit to herself that there was this darker part of her filled with fear, one that wondered if she would ever experience it again, one of his silent admissions of love. She didn't want to be his eternal reminder of a misstep that costed him everything, she couldn't bare for him to look to her with reprimand, with that regretful, saddened look in his indigo eyes much like the one his mother had given her before her departure. Lyanna needed him to love her. _Oh, he still loves me, he does._ The thought made her close her eyes, fearful of her own tears. She doesn't want to be sad, she doesn't want to cry and make him sad.

Instead, she leans in with a small sigh escaping her lips, pressing her forehead against his. When she is certain they are dry, she opens her eyes and lets them inquisitively fall to his own. There are so many things there, opposite of an empty, cold look and yet just as unreadable. Lyanna wanted to read him, she wanted to silently gauge what it was that she could do to ease his soul. Words scared her, they seemed so blunt, inadequate for the task. Instead, Lyanna hoped she might feel that which he feels, that she may understand by being near him. And she does, she feels things, but she is reluctant to proceed on her findings, for she wonders if it is truly desire that she sees in his eyes, or is it a projection of her own.

The question seems to answer itself as he leans in and softly brushes his lips against her own. For a moment, Lyanna thinks it is stars exploding behind her eyes that she is seeing. It is not long until a chaste kiss turns into his wanting kisses pressing into her open mouth, eager of feeling him there. He is not languid, but he is not rough, he is never rough even when she would forgive him if he was. Even in the midst of passion, when she is bleeding his back dry, breathing harshly, not sure she can tell left from right, she can sense that every touch he presses upon her is with care. It only thrills her more, the notion that he is there with her in every moment of it, that he makes love to her body and her soul as he does it.

Even as he still kisses her now she feels it, as his hand moves to yank away the sheets, bearing her breasts and soon the entirety of her to him. She could feel her excitement doubling just for spying his own eyes dropping to her naked form, tracing her bare skin. It is unfair, because he is still dressed. Lyanna feels herself moving; before she knows it she sits astride his lap. If he had any different ideas, he is not protesting. She releases her hold on his silver tresses only for as long as it takes her to grab the ridge of his dark tunic and push it up, bearing his lean, muscled chest to him. He says not a word as he pulls her in, closer to him so that she could feel the plain that was his chest press upon the tenderness of her small breasts. She feels his lips finding purchase at her neck and she grinds down involuntarily, feeling the shiver she sent through him. She is as bare as the day she was born, and he is clothed beneath her. The friction, while thrilling in its own way, does little to release the tension building up deliciously at the junction of her legs. 

She angles her hips away, just enough for her hand to tug on the defiant laces of his breeches. With all her fervency, she feels frustrated not getting it right, only tangling it further. His own hand snakes between them, clasps over hers, warm, soon finishing the task she set up on. Then, one of his hands rests on her hip while another inches up her back, holding her up and closer. She pushes down, her eyelids flickering closed by themselves and as she does; she feels a gasp dislodging from his throat as his hand moves up her back. His fingers twine in the short locks at the nape of her neck, already sticking to her skin with sweat. Her own breath falters, in a form of a small puff she is sure he can feel on his cheek, as she moves in a quite familiar fashion. When she moves again and then again, with small shifts of her hips, feeling her knees trembling, her head dizzying with desire, it much feels to Lyanna like she might fall were it not for him holding his ground, giving her an anchor.

It is not long before she feels her fingertips curling into the flesh of his back, nails leaving imprints, his own fingers tugging on her hair in kind as his mouth brand her skin with heat. It feels good, it feels long desired, like flying untethered, both of them burning, gasping, moaning with the thrill of feeling each other close. It makes her forget all that which makes her feel caged and yet lost at the same time, all that which saddens her, all of it is is so far away, with merely a faint reminder somewhere in the back of her mind. Judging by the heavy sheen of desire glossing over his own indigo eyes, it is much of the same for him. That regret and sadness upon his brow is gone, he is himself and he is hers.

„Oh, Rhaegar, so close.“ is all she manages to utter against his lips, their eyes meeting for a split second before she crashes into the abyss that is the complete void of her mind, clutching to him lest she flies apart into trembling pieces, which is much of one she feels herself to be. The ecstasy is prolonged and her muscles keep spasming because he is right there with her, a soft groan from the back of his throat vibrating against her neck as a warmth floods the bottom of her belly. Her breath is rough and unsettled still, she cannot help it as she feels him softly kissing at her neck, her throat, her jaw and up. His warm gaze meets her own for a second before she feels her eyes closing.

His hand rises then to move aside the dark locks fallen into her eyes, his thumb caresses her brow so sweetly, lulling her into calm. Her head feels heavy, she wants to lean it against his shoulder, she wants to regain her breath. He pulls her in, holds her there, soothing her as his hand travels up and down her spine.

„I missed you so.“ She tells him when her breath is her own again. Her voice falters slightly, it is only a tiny fraction of all the things she wants to tell him. It somehow seems easier to tell him this now, when his eyes are obscured from her own, when she cannot see that trace of sorrow in them that hurts her so deeply.

„I missed you too, my sweet.“ He returns, moving so that he may meet her gaze. She is reluctant for a second, but when she looks up she sees that familiar bottomless look in his dark eyes, one that levels her and thrills her at the same time.

„Please, don't leave again.“ She breathes softly as she traces a finger across his jaw. She doesn't know why she asks this of him, but she does. His absence brought her so much conflict and uncertainty; she remembered how happy they were that morning, how thrilled she was in her intention to find him and tell him the news shortly after, only to learn he had already received the news of his own. He still didn't know...

Snapping her out of that thought is the fact he still doesn't seem to have an answer to her plead. When she looks up, wary of a response, she sees that unpleasant conflict on his features once more. 

„You are leaving, aren't you?“ She brings herself to ask, feeling her lower lip faltering ever so slightly. Was he truly, was he abandoning her once more? Would he even come back?

„I am sorry, my love. I must.“ She hears him say regretfully.

She feels a sudden urge to protest at this. „Why must you? Is it...“ _us_ , she wants to say. She cannot, she fears the answer, and even more it's the silence she fears.

He seems to sense it, the fear, as he moves to dissuade her. His hand cups her cheek, angling her head so that she may meet his gaze. „I do not wish for it either, my sweet. I would keep you near me if I could. I must go for the capital, it cannot be postponed any longer.“

„Why can't we go together, then?“ This conversation suddenly reminds her of a similar one they had in the past. 

„There are matters in the capital that need my immediate attention. Things I must solve before I bring you there, for your safety as much as the stability of the realm.“ Lyanna understood, but she didn't like it.

Her expression must have showed it for he moved to place a soft, consoling kiss to the corner of her mouth before he whispered solemnly. „Don't resent me for this, I beg of you, my love. I promise, it won't take a minute longer than it must. King's Landing isn't far from here; at the first glimpse of a chance, I shall come and visit you, my sweet.“

„Visit me? Gods Rhaegar, for how long shall we be apart, then?“ She cannot help the frustration and disappointment that seeped into her voice.

„Six moons at the most, perhaps less.“ _Six moons._ He wasn't even gone, and it already felt like a lifetime. So many things could occur in six moons; at the very least, she would grow full with the child she carried by then.  

„Rhaegar, I...“ Something stops her at this. If she told him, surely he would be more reluctant in leaving her apart from him. As much as she did not wish for a moon-long separation, Lyanna believed him, that he wouldn't do this unless he had to. The danger Dorne represented right now, it wasn't lost on her despite the fact he carefully chose his words not to alarm her. If she told him, he would have no choice but to announce their marriage. And he might put himself in danger for it...

„What is it, my sweet?“ He asks of her softly, as his fingers tenderly trace her cheek.

„I...I love you.“ She says instead. A small light flickers behind his eyes at the declaration, and it makes her warm all over. Pulling her in, closer to him, he whispers. „I love you, too.“


	41. A Courtly Game

Looking toward the open windows, Cersei finds herself sighing again. „Are you certain they are to arrive today?“ She asks once more of her brother who leans against the nearby wall, his relaxed posture against it much in contrast to his sturdy white Kingsguard armor. For a split second, Cersei wonders how he manages to spend all day in such a monstrosity of a thing.

„Aye, I am certain.“ Is his belayed answer; his voice would imply he finds himself utterly bored. Not truly wishing to engage him on the topic, Cersei just keeps staring to the sight of the closed gates, longing for a glimpse of straight, silver hair flowing through them like a banner. Her breath stops at a semblance of such, but soon her shoulders deflate when she realizes it is her eagerness that fools her eyes.

„Gods be good, sister.“ She hears Jaime grumble from behind her. „Settle down, you seem like you are about to have a heart attack. Even if you see him arrive, then what? Are you planning to prostrate yourself before his feet before he even breaches the gates, beg him to take you as your wife? I don't think our prince has a knack for desperation.“

„I am not desperate.“ Spits Cersei behind her bared teeth. „I am simply convinced that the prince will see this match to be as prosperous as I see it. My excitement is completely justified; soon I will be queen, no woman can say something like that doesn't make her heart skip a beat.“

Before her brother manages to conjure a response, one she already anticipates to drip with bitterness, her breath is taken once again; this time the scene that captured her eye is there even after a blink. It is prince Rhaegar, shining in all his glory atop his strong, black destrier. The darkness of the animal only serves a greater contrast to his silvery beauty. When she feels her eyes have studied every detail of his magnificent appearance, Cersei allows them to drift to the background, searching for a wheelhouse. Her arms crossed and her eyes slitted in focus, she feels herself relaxing when she realizes none such can be found.

„He left that purple-eyed whore behind.“ She says beneath her breath. On one hand, the news brought her pleasure- it seemed she was the only female influence at this court which much went to her advantage. Another part of her wondered what business could possibly lady Ashara have in Dragonstone all by herself. Mayhap she was no longer there, mayhap she was shipped back to her homeland. But why was she there in the first place? Is it possible she had plans of seducing the king, but somehow they fell through?

Not truly expecting a different account than the last fifty times she inquired, turning her head toward her brother, Cersei asks nonetheless. „What exactly was it that you read in that letter, pray tell?“

„Gods be good, what are you, deaf?“ He seems utterly irked at this question of hers. It seemed her brother harbored jealousy for the silver prince, now king but Cersei didn't have the time nor the patience for his envious tantrums. Regardless of how Jaime felt about it, she would be queen. It was her destiny, and no one would take it away from her.

„I already told you, nothing of interest, except that she asked her brother if she may join him. There was no further explanation.“ He grumbles under his breath, disinterested.

„Why didn't you bring it back for me to read, then?“ She asks, crossing her arms once more. She had to take his word for it, and while she would never doubt it in the past, his present behavior left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was surprised enough he had agreed to do it.

„Because you are insane, that is why.“ He returns. „I couldn't risk such a thing. What kind of explanation would I give to Ser Barristan had he realized the scroll was missing? The most I could do was fly over it myself, and that was what I did. Do not make me regret it.“

„Fine, I believe you.“ Cersei relents, mostly due to the fact she hadn't another choice. For now, Jaime in his Kingsguard position was her closest source of information regarding the prince. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to keep faith in his words. That was of course, until she indeed became queen, became the woman closest to Rhaegar herself. Close enough for him to whisper all his secrets right into her ear in that silvery tone of voice he used when he sang his songs. The idea of it makes a doleful sigh escape her.

„I wouldn't keep my hopes up if I were you.“ Her brother's voice drifts to her again, the mocking lilt to it sinking her mood as well as angering her.„Who knows what the prince has in mind or who, just the fact he didn't bring Lady Ashara with him means little. Mayhap his eyes are directed in a completely different direction.“

Cersei lifts her brows. „And which direction might that be, prey tell? I don't suppose you are referring to Lysa Arryn, with her reputation and history. Creating a match between her and the prince would be ludicrous, an insult. You think the prince is enough of a fool to cast a gaze her way?“ Thinking to it once again for certainty, Cersei decided there was no other match in sight. Any other lady of proper standing was either married or not of age. There was of course that savage Stark girl, Lyanna, but she was to marry Robert Baratheon. Regardless of such, the polite, graceful prince would never cast a glance her way. Her unruly looks and brass attitude were enough to scare off a proper man even without her own intervention. Cersei wondered what ever was of that note she had sent under the guise of anonymity to the king, regarding her. At the time, it was her last attempt at preventing her betrothal to Robert. It mattered little now, the Mad King was dead and Robert Baratheon had long ago escaped her thoughts.

Jaime inclines his head with a small smirk. „And yet, you think the king is enough of a fool to cast his gaze your way.“

Cersei's irritated green gaze pins him at this. „Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to awake my ire? I assure you, such a thing shan't be entertaining for either of us, especially you.“

„Calm down, I am not trying to anger you. I am just trying to be a good brother and warn you to not be too thrilled about this until you know all the facts. It hasn't been a moon's turn since the princess' death and you already fancy yourself his wife. You haven't even spoken to the man yet.“

„That shall change soon.“ Cersei lifted her nose as she moved to pick up her skirts. „ And _I_ am going to change into something more presentable to properly greet the prince's arrival.“ She informs him as she pulls her sumptuous red skirts away from him.

„Do not forget to coif your hair.“ She hears him yelling after her. Were it not for the immense excitement swelling in her chest at the notion of the silver prince in her vicinity, she might have payed more mind to her brother's jabs. _He was only jealous._ she reassures herself. No matter what, Cersei had long accepted that as thrilling as their affair had been, Jaime would never be able to give her the life that she deserved. There was another man that could, she mused, another man who deserved all her thoughts being directed towards him.

* * *

 

„Your Grace.“ The call comes from a man quickly breaching the distance from his office to the hallway.

„Jon.“ Rhaegar nods to his newly appointed Hand belatedly, as he hadn't yet conjured a habit of responding to such address. The other man bows swiftly, with more depth than he used to before. It must have been his way of giving honors to his newly appointed title.

 „Walk with me.“ Rhaegar invites as he amends his way towards the Maidenvault. Jon is quick in adjusting his brisk pace to his own. He begins speaking. „My king, I wish for you to know I am profoundly regretful of your loss. Unfortunately, there was little we could...“

„I know, Jon.“ Rhaegar cut him off, he hadn't the desire for touching on that subject. What good would it do him, beside reopening freshly forged wounds. „I understand that it was a tragedy and an accident. Believe me, I blame no one else but my father. But what good is a blame on the dead?“

„I agree, my king. It is a wise choice to put this behind you as soon as possible. Especially since some might not be so inclined.“

„I assume you are referring to the Dornish.“ Rhaegar sighs. The good thing about Jon was that he could always be expected to speak his mind. Rhaegar cared for honesty more than he did for courtesy.

„Absolutely,Your Grace.Which is why I wrote to you in the manner I have. From what I see, I assume you have taken my advice about Lady Lyanna.“

„With a heavy heart, I did.“ Rhaegar confessed. His memories still held the strange ache that embedded in him as he said his farewells. There was something in her wide grey eyes as they looked to him, something that just seemed to plead with him to stay. He did not take kindly to abandoning her, especially since she'd confessed to him just how lost she felt, being away from home and from him. „'Tis for her own safety, but just so you know, I will not have it for long, Jon. I want her here as soon as it is possible.“

 „I understand, my king.“ Jon inclines his head. „I will give my best efforts to solve this matter for you. Although, to be completely honest, there is another matter that the lady's presence could, surprisingly, assist in solving.“

„What could be such a matter, pray tell?“ Rhaegar felt his forehead frown as he considered this claim of Jon's.

The other man does not vocally respond, he simply nods ahead of himself. Rhaegar's eyes soon followed the suggestion, stopping as they fell on the red and gold attire of one of the guards posed in front of what Rhaegar knew to be one of the guest rooms. Much like Jon's answer a breath ago, Rhaegar's question is wordless as he looks to the other man.

„Cersei Lannister.“ Is the two-worded reply from him. He needn't say more, Rhaegar already felt his mood clouding.

„Lord Tywin's daughter, Elia's lady-in-waiting.“ Rhaegar sighs. „Was she not sent to Casterly Rock? What is she still doing on the grounds of the Red Keep?“

„I tried breaching the subject with her. My understanding is that she was invited as a guest of the queen's. There wasn't much I could do about it.“

„A guest of my mother's? Gods.“ Rhaegar gives an exasperated sigh. „Does she know, my mother, what she is doing to me? She cannot be blind, she must be understanding of that woman's intentions. Why she allowed her, invited her to stay is completely beyond me.“

„I agree, my king. The lady's intentions are everything but pure.“

„It is not her that I fear, it is her lord father that has the capacity of giving me a headache.“ Rhaegar returns forlornly. „Tell me, how is the great Lord Tywin going to take it when I inflict on him the indignation of telling him I won't take his daughter to be my queen? He already tried once, my luck it was that my father denied the request at my behalf.“

„I'd never thought I'd hear you praise one of your father's decisions.“ Jon quips. When the jest does not seem to ease Rhaegar's mind, he returns, serious. „Your father was right on that account, Your Grace, and then some. The lions are cunning beasts, and they claw for power at every turn.“ Just as the quiet but pronounced words escaped Jon's mouth, Rhaegar's eyes fell on a sight that had him regretting his decision of cruising this particular part of his castle.

„My king.“ Cersei Lannister sings as hurriedly approaches and curtsies, her knees bending deeply as if they are made of rubber. The lady brought with herself a sweet smell of summer flowers that was pleasant for every bit her general presence was not. Her appearance was frighteningly perfect; the yellow and crimson dress framing her shoulders had been one that left no doubt that it was indeed her house that possessed the vastest fortune of the kingdoms. Her golden tresses were flawlessly arranged, partly in braided buns and partly flowing freely over her shoulders, with not a hair out of place.

„My lady.“ Rhaegar returns the greeting, short of reaching out to place a kiss on her knuckles. Mayhap it was a rude thing to do and as such it irked him to do it, but Rhaegar feared any politeness would be in danger of being enormously read into.   

Cersei's voice is thin and her hands are folded as she speaks in return. „My king, I wish to offer you my deepest condolences for your loss. It had been such a great injury to all of us at court, truly. A great tragedy. I cannot imagine how Your Grace must be affected by it...“

„Thank you for your concern, I am coping fairly well.“ Rhaegar returned in a level voice. „I also thank you for your kind words, but I am afraid I must seek your excuses. I am still to see my daughter. Jon?“ Rhaegar invites the man who was to be his savior from this situation and it seems his lord hand accepts such a task with ease.

„Of course, Your Grace. The princess has been assigned different chambers right here in the Maidenvault, in the wake of Maegor's Holdfast needing a thorough renovation. This way.“ Jon suggest swiftly before he nods to the lady, and Rhaegar does as well. „Your Grace.“ Cersei once against curtsies deeply, looking after the two men who made their retreat.

Had they been alone, the king would have granted her more of his attentions, surely. That Lord Connington always had to ruin everything, she thought. She disliked the man, disliked his brass attitude and ever more disliked his closeness to Rhaegar. There was no doubt the unflattering impressions were mutual and Cersei suspected she just knew the reasons behind it.

 It was more than once that she wondered unkindly about Jon's own feelings toward the prince, now king. No matter his aspirations, it was clear Rhaegar was not returning of them but he still held the lord in high regard, as well as considered him his friend. Once she became queen, there were many people in court whose toxic influence Cersei would have to get rid of. As of today, Jon Connington topped the list.

* * *

 

A soft knock on his door snaps him out of his daydream. Startled, Rhaegar lifted his head from his crossed arms supported against his sturdy dark desk. While he was king now, Rhaegar found little use in making a change of his working chambers from which he carried out most of princely duties.

„Your Grace, princess Rhaenys is here and wishes to see you.“ A thin voice calls to him and with blurry eyes, Rhaegar recognizes the woman owning the voice as Septa Rene, the woman who had been in charge of his daughter's care and education. When he'd previously sought out his daughter's company, he was told she was away for her lessons and would be informed of his arrival after.

Instead of speaking, Rhaegar nods his attention. His throat feels sore, unaccustomed to speaking. He did not know for how long he'd dozed off at his desk. His own tiredness was likely caused by the exhaustion of the trip, his mind reasoned, ignoring the fact his strength had been drained subsequently after. The weariness is quickly replaced by utter joy that flooded him as he saw his daughter's sweet face.

Rhaenys giggles as she runs to him and Rhaegar catches her slight child weight with ease, placing her on his lap. „Papa!“ She tells him, her short, thin arms wrapping around his neck quite strongly. Rhaegar is too affected by his daughter's happiness at his arrival to note the Septa still standing at the doors. It is only when Rhaenys releases him that Rhaegar politely sends the septa on her way and the doors behind her close.

„My darling.“ He smooths his daughter's dark hair, silently grateful 'tis not tears that he is seeing on her face, much in resemblance to her late mother's.

„Papa, I missed you.“ She tells him, awaking a peng of regret in him. There is not much he can do to make such a thing right so Rhaegar simply responds. „I missed you too, my darling.“

„Mama left.“ Then she tells him, the first semblance of tears glistening in her onyx eyes. Rhaegar knew they would need to have this conversation, but that doesn't make it any easier on his soul. „I know, my darling. I am so sorry.“

„My septa says she is not coming back. Why papa, did you send her away?“ Rhaegar takes a moment to softly wipe the hot, newly shed tears from her round, childish face. He finds the question oddly hurtful. „Nay, my darling. Mama is dead. Do you know what that means?“

Rhaenys nods with a sad pout on her lips. „It means she is not coming back. Septa told me.“   

Rhaegar softly nods, finding that any deeper understanding could not be expected of a child her age. Anything else would have likely only made it more difficult for her. „Your septa is right. I cannot do anything to bring mama back, but I can promise to never leave you again.“

His daughter's silence is telling of just how absent he had been. Rhaegar had to do better, he silently vowed to do better now that he was the only parent his lovely daughter had in this world.

„Will Lady Cersei now be my mama?“ Rhaenys asks then in her thin voice, completely taking him off guard. The surprise is quickly replaced by a slight of frustration.

„Why would you think such a thing, my Rhaenys?“ He asks with guarded softness, careful of not misplacing his indignation.

The child only shrugs, only making Rhaegar more certain that her head was filled with nonsense while he was absent. That some might use his child to manipulate him, it seemed like such a disgusting, vile move to him.

„Do you spend a lot of time with Lady Cersei?“ He asks, trying to grasp just how much of an influence they hoped to achieve through his daughter's vulnerability.

Rhaenys shakes her head left and right. There is a small pout on her lips as she says. „I do not like her. She was mean to Balerion.“

Rhaegar solemnly nodded in response to his daughter, not having much trouble imagining the pompous court lady being irritated by a mere kitten. „Listen to me, my Rhaenys.“ Rhaegar convinces as he meets his daughter's eye. „No one shall ever replace your mother in your heart. You should not be sad, but you should not forget your mother either.“

The child only nods with a small pout. Her attention is briefly distracted toward his desk; Rhaegar watches on in wonderment until a broken chain with a pendant is intertwined in her small fingers. He had forgotten about it being there; he brought it with himself, hoping to get it fixed until the next time he saw Lyanna.

„This isn't mama's.“ She whispers in a broken voice. Rhaegar moves to smooth her dark hair as he explains. „No, it is not, my darling. It is, however, of another lady that is very dear to your papa. A lady you can meet soon. Would you like that?“

Rhaenys shrugs. “Is she nice?“ Rhaegar nods as he cups his daughter's face to meet her eye. „She is terribly nice. And very beautiful. I think you shall like meeting her.“

„Do you think she would like Balerion?“ Rhaenys asks with that childish titter that he so loves to hear from her. It elicits a slight smile from him. „I am sure she would.“

 


	42. About a Life

Walking about the dark, ominous halls of the half-abandoned castle that played host to her for the last moon, Lyanna thought the small steps of her slippered feet to reverberate with disconcerting loudness. With the lack of natural noise, it seemed even a dropped pin in one part of the castle would have been heard in another. It was a thing she was utterly unaccustomed to, silence. In Winterfell, there simply was no such quiet. When Brandon's loud laughs and curses could not be heard, Benjen's clear voice or their father's reprimands could, and that was not even considering the noise of numerous servants completing the tasks that ensued the inner workings of the castle ran smoothly.

Despite the servants practicing something akin to invisibility, the castle of Dragonstone itself was flawlessly governed enough for Lyanna to notice, even when she was not inclined to pay attention to such things. By the looks of it, every room had been thoroughly and frequently cleaned, with not a speck of dust on a single of the dark grey and black surfaces. Even right now, as she walked back from the direction of Rhaegar's solar, Lyanna could note that the few of the pieces of furniture that filled the large space had been perfectly positioned, almost suggesting that a living soul within these walls was a rare sight.

Clutching the letter she had forged, making a use of paper and quill she found as part of the contents of Rhaegar's desk, Lyanna bended her trajectory toward the final staircase she needed to climb before reaching the floor which held her own bedchambers. The longer back part of her black dress trailed behind her, brushing the stony steps as she briskly walked up them.

She had every intention of tracking down Ser Oswell, who had been off duty at the time of her awaking. Lyanna needed a raven to match the letter in her hand, a raven to carry it all the way over to Red Keep where it would fall into Rhaegar's hands. The contents of her letter could hardly be called urgent yet she still looked forward to it reaching its destination, and even more to a response. Lyanna mostly scribbled of her days passing with boredom and even managed to cram in a romantic word or two, as self-conscious as such a feat made her feel. A part of her itched to share the joyful news with Rhaegar, the news she had previously omitted following her gut sensation rather than reason. Still, her hand was stopped as she considered how she didn't want to deny herself the chance of telling him in person and seeing his reaction.

Lyanna was snapped out of such musings in the next moment as she fell distracted by what sounded like a faint cry. Freezing with apprehension, ceasing the rustle of her movements, she made it possible for her ears to concentrate. What next came was nothing less than a clear scream, causing an upbeat within her chest. Allowing her legs to move toward the sound, Lyanna hurried, climbing two steps at a time. Her first thought had been Lady Ashara. Picking up her pace as she set on breaching the distance to the doors of her bedchamber through a hallway completely void of guards, Lyanna was more and more assured she had been right.

Her hand hovering to knock, Lyanna felt slightly discomforted at the thought of entering the lady's chambers without a summon.Considering her reasons, she steeled herself and reached for the door handle.

The scene that spread before her as she opened the doors and made a few steps in rendered her useless with scare; Lady Ashara had been sitting up in bed on her knees, an angry crimson stain spreading over the bottom surface of her white nightgown. Wide purple eyes rising to hers, Lyanna saw the incredible fright that ruled within them.  

„Something is wrong.“ Ashara breathed in a high, pained voice, her hand pressing to the bottom of her belly. „Get a maester.“

Flying on instinct, Lyanna turned on her heel just for long enough to reach the open doors again as she yelled into the hallway for help. Thinking she heard commotion along with distant fastened steps gave her small relief before she hurriedly turned back into the chamber.

Reaching out as soon as she stood by the bed, Lyanna took a hold of Ashara's free hand as she reached to smooth her hair from her already sweaty forehead with another. The lady gripped back firmly, the sensation telling Lyanna she was likely in an extraordinary amount of pain.

„It will all be alright, I promise. The maester will be here soon.“ Lyanna attempted to reassure as she saw the other woman shutting her eyes with pain, giving a slight nod. Her other hand lifted from between her thighs for a moment, trembling, colored in crimson. The bleeding had not been a good sign, surely, and Lyanna chose not to pay close attention to the large pool of blood that collected on the sheets beneath.

Another yelp of pain tore from Ashara as she doubled down in pain, as much as her swollen belly allowed for such a movement. Lyanna's lips tightened with compassion; grey eyes flicked back toward the doors, willing the maester to come as quickly as possible.

„The babe is coming.“ Ashara claimed between harsh breaths. „Gods help me, 'tis too soon.“

Lyanna did not know much about such a subject, childbirth, she could only hope the bleeding was a harsh side-effect of the labor, and not a sign that the babe had been hurt. Not letting any such inquiries get past her thoughts in fear of scaring the other woman, Lyanna tried to offer some comfort by returning the tight grip on her hand instead.

* * *

 

„What are they saying? What?“ Ashara breathed between yelps of pain, squeezing Lyanna's hand harder. The maester and a midwife had been murmuring between themselves and it had driven scare into her bones.

Looking toward the older man, trying to discern the finesses in his expression as he spoke in a hush, Lyanna aimed to reach a conclusion on how serious the news had been. The deep frown on the maester's forehead did not reassure as the midwife hurriedly nodded and left the room. It seemed that Ashara had noted the woman's departure as well, despite her view being obstructed by the large white sheet drawn over her open knees.

„What is it? Tell me!“ She demanded desperately. Lyanna moved to smooth back her dark sweaty locks as her own wide eyes looked to the maester, expecting an explanation. _It must have been grave._ she thought, since the man hesitated to speak.

„I am afraid the babe is not turned in a proper position.“ The man said with a drawl of regret. „Overcoming such a thing might be a challenge, but do not fret just yet, my lady.“

The attempted reassurance seemed to be lost on Ashara as she looked to the other woman with large purple eyes, open with scare. Then, she sobbed. „We shall die. Me and the babe, the both of us. Gods help us.“

Lyanna quickly reached to grab the slight hand that slipped her grab just a second ago. It did little to calm the other woman, who turned her head away, sobbing. „Lady Ashara, listen to me“ Lyanna attempted to get her attention, gently touching her other hand to the side of her face.

The woman seemingly hesitated before she turned her weeping gaze toward her. Lyanna tried to keep her voice level as she convinced, squeezing the other woman's hand reassuringly with her own. „Listen to me. You shan't die, not you and not your babe. I promise, nothing bad shall happen. You are strong, you can do this.“

„I am not strong. I am not.“ The other woman cried. „I don't know how other women do this, Gods help me, I can't. I am all alone.“

„Yes, you can.“ When the other woman once again averted her gaze, her lips trembling, Lyanna tugged on her hand, getting her attention again. „You are strong, and you will get through this. I know you might wish for others but I shall stay with you if you want, as long as you need me to. You are not alone.“

The other woman's breath hitched. „You will? Why, I have been so horrible to you...“

 Lyanna shook her head. „You weren't. Don't think about that now, just think about how this babe is going to meet the outside world safely, boy or girl.“

The thought seemed to elicit a bright smile from the other woman until her face once again contorted in pain as another contraction wreaked havoc on her body. The incredibly firm grip of her hand had Lyanna's searing in pain but she wouldn't think about pulling back.

Seeing the beads of sweat glistening on Ashara's forehead as she tried to regain her breathing once again, Lyanna snapped her head to look around for a clean cloth she could dip into cool water and press to her forehead. Spying one such, Lyanna moved to reach for it but Ashara's panicked stare and another strong grip of her hand pinned her in place.

Moving a hand over her hair to soothe her, Lyanna softly spoke. „I am staying, I will be right here.“ Seeing an alternative to her prior intention as a servant girl approached her side, Lyanna lifted her grey eyes toward the girl. „Could you get a wet cloth to press to her forehead, please?“

The girl nodded, her thin figure in a cream dress hurriedly moving until she approached from the other side, pressing a cool piece of cloth to Ashara's feverish skin. As she persisted in her task, the girl's large brown eyes met Lyanna's for a second before she looked away with shyness.

„You should not be burdened with this, my queen. I can take care of the lady's needs from now on.“

Noting Ashara's once again frightened expression as the girl's words reached her ears, Lyanna squeezed her hand once more assuredly. „'Tis no bother, I wish to stay.“ She responded simply to the servant girl, taking over the cloth from her as she rose at the maester's command.

„We need some more hot water and towels.“ The maester claims in a tired, sickly voice. Despite knowing such a thing might only cause her further fright, Lyanna cast a shy glance over the drawn sheet, having her eyes met with pools and pools of blood as she did. In complete honesty, she would have to say she had never seen so much red in a single place. It couldn't have been a good thing at all, she thought. Her own mother had bled out birthing Benjen, Lyanna could only silently pray to the Old Gods that Lady Ashara would not be met with the same fate.

Taking deep breaths in a rapid succession, Ashara struggled with another wave of pain and pressure that threatened to split her in half, or at least that was how such a thing felt to her. Baring her teeth, she could no longer hesitate giving all her efforts to push her child one step further toward the world.

„My lady, you cannot push right now.“ Came the alarmed warning from the maester and Ashara barred her teeth, willing her body to endure the excruciating pain as she struggled to pull her efforts to a halt.

„What? Why?“ She asked as she regained her breath, lifting her head slightly. She tried to meet Lyanna's gaze with her own until she noted it had been turned toward the maester.

„I am afraid the umbilical cord is wrapped around your child's neck. If you push now, you might...“

 „What, strangle him?“ Ashara cried in panic. „Oh Gods, please help me.“ As her head hit the pillow and she felt hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, a shiver passed her as a cool surface met her forehead. Turning her head, she could see Lyanna holding the cloth to her forehead, her other hand still not letting go of her own.

When their eyes locked, the other lady assured in a husky voice as her hand left hers to touch to her cheek. „Do not fret. It will all be well. The maester can do something about this, can't you maester?“ The question was directed at the old man who carried a frown on his brow, one of which Ashara had trouble telling if it was permanent or not.

„I shall make an attempt, my queen. There is no space for worry just yet. Just do not push, my lady.“

Ashara gave a fervent nod, one mostly directed at herself. She wished for, she needed a distraction from the unbearable splitting pain drowning the general area from her waist to her knees that once again came in the place of pressure. Lyanna, as if having read her mind, asked.„Which one would you wish for?“

Blinking as all her senses became cloudy for an instant, Ashara asked her to repeat the question.

Lyanna gave her a small smile as she moved the cloth; Ashara could soon feel her hand smoothing back her locks from her forehead. „Which one would you wish for, a boy or a girl?“

„I don't know.“ Ashara answered breathlessly, suddenly feeling a sense of drowsiness overwhelm her. „A boy might be nice, but I will love her just the same if 'tis a girl.“ This provoked a grin from Lyanna and Ashara could not help  but smile back, until another contraction shook her body in enormous waves. She wasn't sure she could bear it this time, she wasn't sure she could take it...

„Very well.“ Came the elevated voice from the maester. „I see the baby's head and I believe the matter of the umbilical cord is solved. You may push, my lady.“

Ashara had never been so grateful for a command in her life. Barring her teeth as her hand clenched all by itself around Lyanna's, Ashara gave a stifled scream as she forced her whole body to work toward expelling this child. The maester's voice came to her ears like through a dream as she tried to regain her breath.

„Very well, another push like that and the babe shall see the light of day.“

Taking a deep breath as she concentrated once more, Ashara thought she was going to break Lyanna's hand with the grip her own pain forced her to inflict on her. Taking a smallest break, she panted slightly before her teeth barred once again. The scream that erupted from her sounded so loud in her head, that it took her more than a moment to realize the horrible pressure was subsiding.

An utter silence drowned the entire room as the maester set upon his task of fully separating the babe from its mother's body. Sweaty and beyond exhausted, Ashara turned her head to Lyanna, who once more reached for the cloth, soothing the redness of the other woman's face with it.

Regaining her mind, just as the initial pangs of worry started affecting her, Ashara heard a small whine, before the babe's lungs allowed for a rather loud cry. Lyanna grinned as her gaze felt drawn to the sight of the crying babe, very loudly announcing to the world that it was indeed born alive. Ashara struggled to get a good look herself, she could not see clearly for the sheets tightened over her knees obstructed her view. However, it wasn't long until the midwife approached from the other side, handing her the small bundle.

„My lady, 'tis a girl.“ Maester's voice drifted toward her just as she reached out with her arms, longing for her child be deposited into her arms. As soon as the slight weight was secure in her hold, the babe seemed to instinctively nuzzle up to her breast.

„Ah, she is beautiful.“ Breathed Ashara, still in wonder over the little creature that seemed to have fallen almost instantly asleep, not truly allowing her to note the color of her eyes. Her small head was decorated by soft tufts of dark hair, whether it was a trait of hers or of her father's was yet early to tell. Barely tearing her gaze away from her, Ashara only did so to spare a glance at Lyanna.

„Ah, she is.“ Lyanna confirmed with breathless thrill, her own gaze still fixed on the little angelic face calmed with sleep. „I think she looks like a Stark.“ She remarked next with a small glint in her eye, eliciting a tired but proud smile from the young mother.

 


	43. About a Life II

„I simply cannot stop looking at her. She is perfect.“ Ashara says with a hint of pride, tired eyes cast down to the little bundle secured in her arms. Much as Ashara did gazing upon her own child, Lyanna found herself in awe as she observed the gentle, peaceful sight that the babe and its lady mother together created. Despite the dark circles under her dark purple eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion of labor, the glistening smile that split Ashara's face was somehow far more sticking, making the lady seem as beautiful as she was weary. Lyanna supposed it was the glow of motherhood that lit up her features so.

A soft cry from the fussing babe soon snapped Lyanna's full attention back to it. She felt a smile springing to her own lips as she watched to the tiny creature in an adorably oversized white baby gown, tiny arms reaching to its mother, seeking contact instinctively.

„She looks plenty like him, doesn't she?“ Asks Ashara in a soft voice, taking a moment to expectantly lift her gaze toward Lyanna. Studying the other woman, noting the spark of delight in her deep grey eyes as they watched to her niece's alike, Ashara felt regret, even silent shame about the treatment she had afforded her in the past. She had not been kind in the slightest, her heart had been cruel and her tongue had been sharp. And yet, despite the grave offense she inflicted on her, Lyanna found it in herself to offer her nothing but support and reassurance in what would likely remain the scariest, most challenging event of her life.

At the time her rudeness seemed appropriate, justified. After all, Lady Lyanna's actions seemed to speak for themselves. There was hardly an angle from which her dalliance with Rhaegar did not reflect unfavorably of her character. Admittedly, Ashara scarcely searched for one, for her all her loyalty and sympathies understandably lay with Elia.

Even now, Ashara had a hard time reconciling the lady's reputation with the sight before her eyes. One would expect a certain level of callousness, spite embedded within a person that was capable of stealing someone else's husband. Looking at Lyanna, she could not find the slightest trace of such. Her face was lit up with delight as she looked to the infant, the kind of unguarded softness that made her seem as harmless as a child. Her grey eyes were wide with innocence and wonder, not slitted with ambition and unhealthy pride. Ashara truly found herself wondering how the lady before her found her way into a married man's sheets.

„If I didn't know she was his, I would know just by looking at her.“ Offers Lyanna as a way of belated answer, still unable to tear her gaze away from the little creature nuzzled up against its mother's breast. Noting her silent amazement, Ashara leaned in further toward her, wordlessly suggesting that she hold the girl. Lyanna looked to her with apprehension, not sure she understood how to properly hold the babe. Ashara gave her a small nod and Lyanna reached out, carefully cradling the babe that was being softly deposited into her embrace.

„You need to support her head. There.“ Ashara gently instructed, slowly pulling her own arms away. Once the babe's full weight was safely leaned against Lyanna, she seemed to relax some, allowing an airy smile to her lips again.

„She is truly beautiful. Have you thought about how you want to name her?“ Asked Lyanna softly, falling distracted once again as the babe reached out with its tiny hand for her own. Allowing her the contact, Lyanna gasped with wonder as a little fist tightened around her finger. „Oh my dearest, how strong you are! You shall grow up to be as strong as your father, won't you?“ she softly cooed to the babe.

Sparing the other woman a small glance, Lyanna could see the stretch of Ashara's lips into a somber smile, one that suggested the topic of Brandon was a painful, or at least a conflicting one. It made her regret her mention of him.

„Anya.“ Ashara offers simply after a moment. „I shall like to call her Anya. I think it fits her quite well.“

„Little Anya.“ Lyanna repeats breathless, looking inquisitively at the babe as she did so. „What do you say, do you like it?“ By chance more likely than not, the babe happened to open its wide dark grey eyes quite at that instant as she gave a small yawn, provoking a small chuckle from Lyanna. „I think she likes it.“

 „I doubt she is capable of proper judgement.“ Teased Ashara softly, amused by just how enthralled Lyanna seemed to be with her niece. Considering such a thing briefly after she realized they would reside in the same castle, Ashara barely expected her to acknowledge her brother's bastard, let alone more. She had developed a recent habit of thinking herself alone in the world, but it seemed her daughter was much less so. Even if she would never be a Stark by more than blood, she already managed to capture her aunt's heart.

Even now, when the babe started to fuss in an admittedly unpleasant fashion for both eyes and ears, Lyanna seemed nothing other than tender and patient with it as she deposited the babe into the arriving wet nurse's arms.

„How will you name yours?“ Ashara felt a question coming to her lips as an adjacent thing suddenly came to mind. The lady found herself quickly regretting her impertinent choice of word as Lyanna's head snapped up, sudden dismay apparent in her grey eyes.

„I beg your forgiveness if my implications discomforted you, 'tis just that...servants talk, is all. I assumed you were with child.“

„I am.“ Lyanna answered, husky voice soft as her eyes cast down with somber thought. „'Tis just that, I haven't told anyone yet.“ Then, with a small, forlorn sigh. „I guess assumptions run rampant at this place as well as any.“

„Rhaegar doesn't know?“ Ashara brings herself to ask timidly. She had no desire of injuring the other woman and yet her curiosity got the better of her. It seemed peculiar to her, that she would keep such a thing a secret from him. Then again, Lyanna's relationship to Rhaegar had been fairly obscure to her considering her efforts to keep to herself for the duration of her stay.

„He doesn't.“ Lyanna breathed softly. „I, I wanted to tell him, I could just never bring myself to do it. I think he needs some time and space to deal with his grief.“

„You truly love him, don't you?“ Asked Ashara as she looked to Lyanna quizzically, completely swept up by the utter tenderness her voice took on as she talked about him. She only wondered if Rhaegar felt the same way about her. Surely, Lyanna's striking beauty combined with a hint of that wolfish charm (uncannily reminiscent of Brandon's own when she smiled) made it less than difficult to imagine her capturing a man's heart. And yet, the man in question had proven time and time again he was faithful to his harp and not much else. Ashara would not trust Rhaegar to properly note a woman's qualities, let alone honor her for them. After all, Elia had been treated like nothing else than invisible for all the years she spent by his side.

„I do.“ Answered Lyanna softly, now free hands fidgeting in her lap. „Is that such a bad thing?“ She asked then. The question almost sounded like a guilty afterthought, not truly requiring a response. Still, Ashara feels compelled to give an answer. „I honestly do not know, my lady. People might pass judgement on it, depending on time and place, but it is my belief or at least hope that gods do not do so. The world in which love isn't a good thing sounds far more cruel than it should be.“

„I agree.“ Lyanna says softly. „Do you love him, Brandon?“ Then she asks, inquisitive eyes lifting to meet her own. Ashara assumed seeking kinship is a completely natural response, given their predicaments. The only difference between them was that Lyanna's child would one day sit on the throne, and it seemed she had been aware of it. The least she could do was return the humility with honesty.

„I resent him. He ruined me. Yet, a part of me still feels tenderness at the mention of him. I wish it didn't, I wish I wasn't so weak. I guess 'tis a common enough plight for women to feel like such.“

„'Tis not weakness.“ Lyanna returns softly, looking at her. „It just means you are human. We do not control our hearts, no one does. It would be foolish to assume men are any better at the task than we.“

„And yet, the woman is often the one made to pay, and made to feel like she was somehow deserving of punishment.“

„And yet, such is true.“ Lyanna agrees forlornly. „But it doesn't mean you should not keep your head up high. You did nothing wrong by honestly living your life, 'tis more than most people can say. It does not take away from yours or your lovely daughter's worth.“

Ashara gave her a bright smile. „You seem to have a good head on your shoulders and a strong heart, my lady. Rhaegar is a fool if he hurts you. Tell me, does he treat you right?“

Knowing Rhaegar, she could not help but doubt. What if he had finally lost the bit of common sense that divided reality from his dreams, if he left his family in pursuit of his third dragon head and nothing more? To him, Lyanna might have just been another woman with a womb to spare, much like Elia had been until she could no longer serve her purpose. Had she such a thought before, Ashara knew she would have rather cruelly assumed the punishment fit the crime. Now, understanding her better, she felt strangely protective of the woman before her, enough not to wish such a destiny upon her.

„He treats me wonderfully.“ Lyanna admits, breathless. „He is never anything less than kind. I wouldn't regret it in a million years.“ She smiled shyly, biting on her lip and Ashara could not help but return the smile.

„'Tis good if he treats you such. It is Elia's experience that made me inclined to inquire.“ Ashara admits, feeling compelled to share such a thing with the other woman. She deserved to be knowing of her husband's true nature. If only she herself had been warned about Brandon in time...

„Was he not, kind to her?“ Asks Lyanna softly, with a naive sort of disbelief that made her seem more childish than she truly was.

„He was, when he was there.“ The other woman returns with candor. „He was never cruel, not once did he come close to hitting her or raising his voice. Such is not in his blood, despite what his ancestry might suggest. Rather the opposite. He was cold, distant. Lost in his dreams more often than not.“

Lyanna did not seem to have a response to this, other than the smallest perception of sullying. Suddenly finding herself under the impression she had done more harm than good, Ashara reached out with her hand to Lyanna's own in reassurance, regaining her attention. „While such a thing is true, it doesn't have to mean a thing for your marriage. If there is anyone who can show Rhaegar there's more to life than dreaming, it would have to be a woman of such bright spirit and lovely as you.“

 


	44. A Royal Concern

„Your Grace.“ The young lion bows, his green eyes obstructed with a tilt of his head for an instant. Beside Arthur and Oswell, Rhaegar thought himself relieved to have Ser Jaime in his service as well. He served him in more challenging times, when he was a mere prince working against his ruling father's wishes. In fact, Lyanna's safety was owed to him in a lot of ways. That was something Rhaegar could not easily forget, even if the fact the young knight was indeed a Lannister could not completely slip his mind either.

„Ser Jaime, is my mother here?“ Rhaegar asks, referring to the chambers behind the young knight's white-armored back.

„She is, Your Grace.“ Jaime replies moving swiftly to the side, clearing the way for him. „Would you like for me to announce you?“

„'Tis not necessary, I will let myself in.“ Jaime gives a small nod as his hand reaches the handle to hold open the doors for the king. It stops halfway with another string of Rhaegar's words.

„Ser Jaime, seek for me later when 'tis convenient for you. There is something of import I wish to speak to you about.“ Jaime immediately wondered why. _It had to be that damnable letter..._

When the other knight's cat-green eyes widen ever so slightly with apprehension, Rhaegar finds himself inclined to reassure.„Do not fret, Ser Jaime, I've no complaints of your service. Quite the opposite, and given such, there are other topics at hand we need to discuss.“

„Of course, Your Grace. I will be there.“ Jaime bows dutifully, returning to his task of unsealing the doors to the queen's chambers.

Rhaegar spares the other knight one last glance with a slight nod before he turns his attention to the inside of his mother's chamber, feeling the breeze of the doors closing behind him. The first thing to catch his eye is the scene of Viserys and Rhaenys sitting on the floor, making play together out of their specially crafted wooden toys. Little wooden horses and warriors, alongside matching weapons crafted of wood and leather where appropriate. Something about the sight of innocent child's play gripped around his heart. His daughter round face had been lit up with a sweet smile, one that Rhaegar found himself grateful for.

„My sweet prince.“ He finds himself distracted by his mother's voice, faltering with warmth.Turning around, Rhaegar sees his mother bearing a pleasant smile on her face, and yet it was one that unconvincingly distracted from the pained expression underneath. The queen had been strong in a lot of ways, steeled by the harsh experiences of her marriage, and yet sensitive where other things were concerned. Rhaegar remembered something his mother frequently used to say, that she would rather endure all his father's tortures a hundred times over than see him or one of his children succumbing to a cruel fate. The Mad King was dead, but the sorrow remained in trail of his last deed in this world.

„I am no prince, mother.“ He tells her forlornly. It is not with joy or pride that he claims the highest title in his kingdoms, it is with relief. From now on, Rhaegar would be able to protect his family, he would be able to give his mother the peaceful life that she always deserved. A burden would come with the crown, surely, but he could not imagine it to be greater than the one of his father's madness.

„You are right, my king. You are not. Even in tragedy, the Gods have looked upon us.“ His mother gives him a sad smile that Rhaegar struggles to return. It seems his mother notes his reluctance to dwell on the subject, for she soon averts her attention elsewhere.

„Look at them, aren't they a lovely sight? They do bring me comfort so.“ She says of the children, enthralled in their own fantasy world. Rhaegar finds himself silently agreeing even if he felt no particular need to express it. He did not forget the cause of his visit, nor was he willing to let himself be distracted any further.

With a soft sigh, he began speaking. „Mother, I need to discuss a certain subject with you. It maybe best if I came back another time, when you are alone. I would appreciate if you would send for me when...“

„Oh, there shall be no need for that, my son. The children are having their lessons soon, I can have their septa escort them out a bit earlier.“ Rhaella softly brushes his cheek with her hand before she turns and glides over to the door, speaking to Ser Jaime. At her summons, the children rise and obediently take their leave, escorted by Ser Jaime.

„Come, my son, sit.“ The queen invites as she lowers her weight on the sofa. Rhaegar, while feeling he is more comfortable standing, takes a seat in the nearby chair; if for nothing else, so that he doesn't speak over her.

For his condition of tense uncertainty, the queen seems fairly relaxed. When she lifts her tea cup with both hands, taking a small sip, he speaks.

„Mother, I am fairly confident that you know why I wish to speak to you.“

The queen merely shakes her head, looking to him with a kind smile as she sets the tea cup down on the table. „I honestly could not say, my boy. Although by the expression upon your brow, I would assume 'tis something that you find rather displeasing.“

„I do.“ Rhaegar admits as he strums the fingers of one hand on the surface of the desk. „I wish to know why you invited Cersei Lannister to stay here after Elia's death. I find it rather improbable that you are oblivious to her intentions or those of her father,you have to be aware...“

The queen's lips stretch into a somber smile as her hand comes to cover his own, stopping the nervous movement. „As you know, my darling boy, I have spent all of my life in court. That girl's own mother had been my lady-in-waiting, until your father...showed special interest in her. Your mother is no fool when it comes to these matters.“

„Then why, mother?“ Rhaegar averts his eyes as he sighs. „I would rather assume it had been an oversight on your part rather than a calculated intention. Do you truly work against me?“

There is a glimmer of hurt in his mother's eye as he asks this. Rhaegar regretted his outburst of negative emotion seeing it. There was little joy in berating ones own parent. Though, could he truly be blamed? His mother completely disregarded him in making this decision, it were her actions that forced him into this thoroughly uncomfortable situation.

„I would never work against you, you are all I have.“ She says in a small trembling voice, provoking pity and yet a sort of irritation in him. „You may resent me for it or not understand my ways, but a mother does what she must. I did not endure your father for my entire life so that you can topple from that damnable chair before you even sat on it.“

„Mother, what are you speaking of?“ Rhaegar asks, incredulous. He did not take kindly to her implications.

„You need allies.“ His mother swallows with weight before her dark indigo eyes rise to severely pin his own. „Your father burned almost every bridge we had in these kingdoms we do not belong in, not truly, and by taking that girl and abandoning your family, you burned the rest of them. You need to mend the crown's relationship with Tywin Lannister, first and foremost. He is an important man, Rhaegar. His daughter is terribly courteous and beautiful and...“

„And yet, I have a wife!“ Rhaegar finds himself exclaiming, getting more exasperated with every second he listens to his mother's words. When she attempts to clasp her hand over his again, he does not allow it. Instead, he rises from his seat and walks to the windows, drowning his nervous energy in the grey sight of filthy streets and corners of King's Landing that spreads before him. A familiar sight, and yet, it does not feel like home. He finds himself thinking he made a mistake not bringing Lyanna here. Such shameless plots would have surely be quelled by her presence, and even more, the mere fact that she would be here, be beside him...

His mother says nothing for a long moment, almost annoying him with the silence. He doubts it would be much different if she spoke.

„A wife I can recall you accepted. You were kind to her, you said you were pleased. What changed?“

„This is not about Lady Lyanna.“ Rhaella's softly repremanding voice drifts to his ears. „I accepted her because I understand your reasons. She is a part of your prophecy and as such, you need her for completing your destiny. I am not asking you to give up on it. Rhaegar, you need your ice, but you also need a queen.“

„She is my queen.“ Rhaegar replies tiredly. He was no longer mad, he was disappointed. His own mother, doing such a thing behind his back. Had he been told of it instead of hearing it with his own ears, he would have thought it preposterous.

„I can understand if you have become taken with her to some extent. I have grown quite fond of her myself. And yet, Lord Tywin's allegiance would keep you safe on the throne for years to come... I beg of you, think on it, my son. Your marriage has not been blessed by the High Septon, you could have it annulled with ease and keep her as your mistress if you are inclined...“ _Gods condemn both Tywin Lannister and the Throne_ , Rhaegar found himself thinking as his head leaned against the glass. What good was all of it if he could not trust his own mother, if he could not be near the woman he loved? His duty was inescapable, and yet Rhaegar did not know how he would rule with a broken heart.

„Stop it, mother. There is nothing to think about. I am not annulling our marriage and I am not abandoning her, no matter what. I shall not disgrace her by taking her as my mistress.“ The words out of his mouth are a fire that set him ablaze with their meaning. „I cannot believe you would say such a thing, that you would be so cruel.“ Is all he adds, before his head falls down.

His mother sighs a forlorn sigh. „I am not being cruel, my son. I am just trying to protect my child, like I have done all my life.“

„I do not need protection!“ Rhaegar hisses. „I need to be able to trust the people around me. And yet it seems that I cannot trust my own mother. This matter was for me to solve, and you went behind my back. I am certain there is a different way I can earn Lord Tywin's support and I shall find it. But I am not marrying his daughter.“ Says Rhaegar resolutely. The mere thought of it pained him. If the Lannisters wanted a crown, they would have to take the one that was on his head. He would rather have that than do with this betrayal.

When he looks to his mother, she uncomfortably fumbles with her hands in her lap.

„What if you stayed married to Lyanna, and married Lady Cersei as well? You wouldn't be the first man of your line to do so, you even intended to do it so when Elia was alive. Aegon the Conqueror himself had two sister-wives...“

„And yet I am no Aegon.“ Rhaegar finds himself sighing with annoyance. „It was a different time, I had no choice. I very well could not have annuled my marriage to Elia, nor would I have done that to her unless she wanted it. Now I do have a choice. And I am saying no.“ How could he say anything else? Did he not swear himself to Lyanna under her heart tree, did he not wipe the tears that sprung to her grey eyes at the mere thought of them being apart? She would never forgive him such an injury, and he would never forgive himself in turn.

„It is, of course, your choice as king. I am begging of you, just think on it. You have to see how this is your only hope of amending the damage your father has done to these kingdoms. Do not let your love for her blind you...“

Rhaegar lifted a hand. „There is nothing to think about. I would appreciate if you would never speak of this again, under no circumstances will you speak of it in her presence. I will be sending for her tomorrow; this is her home and it has been long overdue.“

His mother looks and sounds utterly dismayed by this as she rises from her seat.„My son, but what of the Martells? You left her behind for a reason...“

„I did, and it is your impertinent actions behind my back that are making me regret it.“ Rhaegar sighed as he stepped away from the windows; this quarell with his own mother uncomfortably weighted on his shoulders. And yet, it seemed he had to set firm boundaries when it came to this subject.

„She is not to be separated from me any longer. Dorne will just have to accept she is my queen, gods know they are not as innocent in all of this as they wish to seem. It had been their actions that put her in danger, and had me abandon Elia before the matter of her stay was discussed.“

„Rhaegar, I beg of you, think on it a bit longer.“ His mother pleads with weeping indigo eyes as she approaches him, lets her hand rest on his chest. „I do not know what I would do without you, please do not do this, my son, do not put yourself in danger...“Taking a pained breath, she rests her other hand on her midriff. „You are all I have, you and this child, if the gods allow it.“

„You are with child, mother?“ Rhaegar asks, softer. He felt regret considering his mother's predicament, after all, she had been with child for the most of his own childhood. Yet, no alive babe had come of it. He did not wish the struggle of losing another one on her.

She gives a small sniffle. „I am. And I beg of you, do not be upset with me. I am only trying to protect you. I wish to stay here if you will allow it. I know that with your father's death, my place is at Dragonstone, but I do not wish to leave your Rhaenys alone.“

„Of course you can stay here for as long as you like, this is your home.“ Rhaegar sighs. Although in his ire he'd considered sending his mother to Dragonstone as soon as possible, he knew the Red Keep to be her castle far more than it was his. „I would never chase you away, but I have a plead for you as well. Do not interfere in my matters, and do not abuse my trust. Regardless of how you feel, I will not have you making Lyanna feel like this is any less her home than it is mine. She is my wife, and it is my desire and plead to you that you accept it.“

There is a short, yet, tense silence before his mother speaks again. „If it means that much to you, if _she_ means that much to you, then I shall accept her.“ She breaths with exhaustion. „I only beg of you to not forget your duty to your realm, in the wake of your love for her.“

 _Love is the death of duty._ Rhaegar finds himself thinking forlornly. Was it not the death of his duty to Elia, or the death of Elia herself? And yet, he hoped the tragic aspects of his and Lyanna's love were left behind them. Not wishing to share any of it with his mother, Rhaegar reassures instead.

„You are filled with unnecessary concerns, mother.“ He tells her as he brushes his hands over his arms in comfort, before he silently excuses himself. As he passes the point of the wide doors, he hears a soft sigh his mother gives.

* * *

 

„Your Grace, I have come to find you, as you commanded. You wish to speak to me about some matter?“ Rhaegar sees Ser Jaime bowing as he rises his head from his desk. Mayhap he ought to start accepting his parties in the Throne Room, yet Rhaegar hadn't a particular inclination to do so. At least for internal matters, the old office he held as a prince would continue to serve its purpose.

„Yes, I indeed do, Ser Jaime.“ Before he continues, Rhaegar lets his eyes trail over the contents of his desk, searching for the scroll whose contents he wanted to discuss. As he unrolls it, he sees Ser Jaime stretching in his posture ever so slightly, as if to spy the sealed wax. Sparing him the trouble, Rhaegar announces.

„'Tis a letter your father has written me. Since it concerns you, I wanted to hear your thoughts on this matter. Lord Tywin is asking me to relieve you of your duties as a sworn member of the Kingsguard.“

Jaime seems to be utterly taken aback by this. His green eyes widen before his head inclines downward. „Pardon me, Your Grace, have I anywhere done wrong?“

Rhaegar clears his throat. „No, Ser Jaime, I do not hold it true you have. On the contrary, I am quite grateful to you for your service and fealty, even while my father was alive. Honestly, I would hate losing you; I am merely entertaining your father's request. It sounds like a reasonable one, since your father wants you to be heir to Casterly Rock. My question is what do you want?“

„Does it matter, Your Grace?“ Jaime asks as his eyes slit for an instant, before he looks away. „I am in your service, and I am my father's son. It is completely your decision. If you do not want me, I have no choice but to leave.“

„And yet, I choose to care about how you feel about it all.“ Rhaegar returns. „I owe you that much, Ser Jaime. You saved my wife.“

Jaime seems to blink with surprise. „Pardon me, Your Grace, did you say your wife?“

Rhaegar finds himself mildly amused with how baffled the other knight seemed. „I am referring to you coming to me about my father sending men after Lyanna Stark. She became your queen in the meantime, and even when she wasn't, you had her best interests in mind. I need someone like that to protect my family. Lots of knights forget some of the most important vows that they take, mainly the one about protecting women, children and innocents. You stand by it. Therefore, I am giving you a choice as a sign of my gratitude. If you wish to be your father's heir, I shall relieve you of your duties. However, if you wish to stay, I will be more than glad to have you.“

Jaime takes a breath before he speaks.„Your Grace, I did nothing but my duty. But if you give me a choice, I would be so free to ask to stay in your service. I joined the Kingsguard for firm reasons that do not bend under my father's wishes, no matter how much he wants them to.“

„Very well, Ser Jaime.“ Rhaegar nods as he skims over the letter once more. „I shall write to your father then that his request is denied. I doubt he is going to be too pleased with it.“

„Knowing my father, I can say I agree.“ Jaime sighs. „Is there anything else, Your Grace?“

„Yes.“ Rhaegar breathes. „Are you aware of any plans he may have for Lady Cersei's betrothal? He hasn't asked for her return to Casterly Rock. Do you know why?“

„I could only take a guess, Your Grace.“ Jaime bows his head. He needn't say more, Rhaegar understood.

„Very well. Then you may understand why his ambitions might be impossible to reach. Ser Jaime, I need to know that if you are in my service, that you are loyal to me, even if it comes to choosing between being loyal to me, and being loyal to your family. If you cannot do that, I understand, but I need to know.“

„I am loyal to you and only you, Your Grace.“ Jaime reassures. „I would never compromise my service to you.“

Rhaegar gives a small smile. „Very well, I am glad to hear that. In that case, we have an agreement. And oh, Ser Jaime, the matter of Lady Lyanna being married to me is not common knowledge just yet. I would appreciate if you would keep it to yourself.“

Jaime gives a small bow. „Of course, Your Grace.“


	45. An Arrival

„And this here, my dearest, is the sea. 'Tis as long and as wide as you can imagine, and more. But don't be scared.“ Lyanna softly announces to the babe calmed in her arms, giving her a small smile as her wide grey eyes flicker open. Same wolfish shape and same shade as Brandon's, it was unbelievable just how much she reminded her of him. Her dearest, eldest brother she had not seen in ages, it seemed, and yet in her arms she held a child that was part him. The babe gives a soft cry as she reaches out with her tiny, pale hand, unsuccessfully grasping for something it seemed. Instead, Lyanna gently catches her small hand and gives it a little kiss. The babe gives her something that resembled a giggle as a reaction to the touch.

With a smile, Lyanna looks up, prompted by the sound of steps on the wooden dock. Turning, she sees Ashara approaching slowly, her dark tresses framing her pale face and cascading down her shoulders to cover over the cleavage framed by a silk purple dress.

„Ah, there you are.“ Ashara gives a small smile as she approaches the sunlit fence. „I must say, I slept rather well. I attribute it to you entertaining this little monster.“ She says as she reaches out to touch to Anya's head lovingly, stroking a soft tuft of dark hair. „She is really crying a lot, but I guess such a thing is commonplace with babes. Were it not for you and the wet-nurse, I probably would have gone insane.“

„We were just taking a little tour of the ship, she was very well behaved.“ Lyanna assures as she reaches to deposit the babe into its mother's awaiting arms. „I think she enjoys the smell of the sea. She was really still the entire time we've been watching over to the surface.“

„The sea is so calm and clear, 'tis a beautiful sight indeed. And land can be seen from this distance. We are near.“ Ashara observes, her purple eyes slitted as she watches to the distance. „Have you ever seen the Blackwater Bay?“

„Nay, I haven't.“ Lyanna answers with a small shake of her head. „I have never been to King's Landing. I guess there is a first time for everything. Honestly, I never expected or thought I would want to leave the North, and yet my destiny chased me away from it. Though the Southron sun, it does not agree with me well and I am not certain it ever will. Rhaegar jests that he will have to order a shipment of snow to make me happy, and I am afraid he might just be right.“

Ashara gives a small chuckle.„ I have never been to the North but I hear 'tis insanely cold. I am not certain I could withstand it, my Valyrian blood would not allow it much like yours doesn't take kindly to heat. Yet, I did not expect to return to King's Landing either.“ Ashara sighs. „It is on your kindness that I even have a home, Your Grace.“

The title felt so unfitting to Lyanna that she barely suppressed the desire to chuckle. „'Tis hardly a thing for mention.“ She responds instead. „I did nothing but ask for your help in fear of being devoured by the court.“ She truly feared it to some extent, the noble lords and the elegant ladies who would surely jump at the first chance to scrutinize her appearance and behavior, and point out all her faults. Although Rhaegar had promised her protection in case anyone treated her with less than kindness, Lyanna knew she had to learn to fend for herself in this new environment.

At times, she and Benjen would mock amongst themselves, referring to each other as king and queen and _Your Magnificence_ as they heard some titles across the Narrow Sea to be. Lyanna never thought she would truly be one, a queen. She wasn't sure she wanted it either. Rhaegar could have been a peasant for all she cared. The best thing of his ancestry had been his hair, the beautiful silver tresses worn long, straight over his shoulders. That was something Lyanna long ago decided, even in their tower.

* * *

 

„You know, you are very beautiful. 'Tis almost sinful, those fair looks of yours.“ Whispers Jaime to her ear as his arm has a firm grasp around her waist. Cersei lets her gaze drift over her own reflection in the mirrors. Yes, she was perfect. Her golden hair was evenly curled and her crimson dress perfectly pressed. Her face had been a particularly satisfying sight as well; this morning she had woken up with a satisfying glow to her features. It had to be the magnificence of her dreams that reflected on how well she'd slept the past night, how pleased she was to wake up to the notion it would all soon be more than a dream. When the moment of her own vanity ceases, her green eyes slit as they meet a pair just alike in the reflective surface.

„What are you doing here now? Don't you see how dangerous it is for you to be here?“ She finds herself hissing as her hand clasps over her twin's alike, in an attempt to free herself from him. When his hold on her does not cease, she finds herself annoyed. He had been so needy and suffocating lately, Jaime, at the same time pissy and distant. Cersei did not care plenty for such a combination. Glancing back to her reflection, she sees her face is quite apt at showing the dissatisfaction. Jaime himself gives a small frown, but it is harmless, like a pup's.

„It was dangerous for me to be here every day for a couple of odd months, and yet I didn't hear you complain.“ He whispers softly over her earshell, before her leans to gently bite at her earlobe. Cersei finds a small shiver of desire crawling her body at the touch, and it upsets her. It was damnable, how he was able to make her body respond to his touch in all the best ways. Cersei had enjoyed it while it lasted, but there could be no more of that. She would soon be queen, she would be Rhaegar's...

„I am here because I need to speak to you about something.“ He adds, in that equally low, seductive tone of voice. He ought to keep his mouth shut, Jaime knows. 'Tis not every day that a king puts his full trust in him, even when he had all the reasons to doubt his fealty. Was he not a Lannister, a filthy cunning lion accepted into the honor fold by the Mad King out of no more than spite? And yet this king Jaime was serving now, he was no Mad King. He was a capable and honorable man, being in his service was the highest honor Jaime would ever receive. And yet, there was the matter of his sister, his Cersei, his pretty, golden lioness...

There was the matter of her pretty pink lips curling with satisfaction whenever the news he brought were pleasing. There was the matter of her gratitude, of those same lips pressing to his, whispering to his ear how no man will ever make her feel the same as he does. These news would likely have a less than a pleasing effect on her, but it mattered little. After her disappointment and eventual tears of rage would dwindle, she would find her way back into his arms. She always did.

„Can it wait?“ She asks cuttingly as she harshly pries herself out of his hold. „I am seeing the king today. I cannot think about anything else.“ She gives a small maidenly sigh, so much unlike herself. _Damn the king._ Jaime found himself thinking. Rhaegar might have been noble and valiant as much if not more than any of his ancestors, he was possibly the greatest man in the kingdoms with a title to match. And yet Jaime would never be at peace with the idea of losing his sister, his _lover_ , to that same man. Cersei has never been so cold, so distant and cruel with him earlier, and yet so stupidly rendered breathless at the sight of another man. It was the crown, he used to console himself. With time it became clear to him it was both.

„You sound like you have a plan.“ Is all Jaime says, thoughtful. Rhaegar and his silver hair, his dreamy indigo eyes, it was all she ever thought and talked about. Shamelessly before him as well, as if she expected him to agree. Perhaps she should try breaching the subject with Lyanna Stark, _Queen Lyanna_ once she arrives, Jaime found himself thinking snidely. He was sure she'd agree. It was at the tip of his tongue, blurting out that the position she so desperately wanted was already taken. Jaime clenched his fist, and kept his mouth shut.

„I always have a plan, dearest brother of mine.“ She claims, touching a hand to the side of his face for an instant before she turns to her vanity table, seeking out her perfume. Even if it lasted no more than a second, her touch, Jaime feels himself burning, burning with a mere brush of her fingertips. Damnable woman, what did she do to him?

„Father always has a plan.“ Jaime reminds her, faithful to his nature of spite. He knows such a comparison might anger her, perhaps he wishes it to. He knows her like the back of his hand, and right now, it suits him to use such knowledge to irk her.

 „To my best knowledge, the king hasn't summoned you.“ _because he is too busy anticipating the return of his wild raven-haired queen._ Jaime had to give it to Rhaegar, he had good taste and even better luck with the type of women he attracted. He must have been bewitched by the Stark girl from the instant he saw her pale flesh bared, lean, muscled as she splashed around in that pond like a child. The faithful, then married prince could not lie in his expression, he liked what he saw. She was fair, far prettier than the late princess Elia, that was certain. Also wild with those untamed dark tresses of hers and a wolfish smile, mayhap that was where the fascination lay. Jaime was too busy studying his reaction to remember his own.

„He needn't summon me.“ Cersei lifts her nose. „I shall summon myself, and the rest will be history.“

* * *

 

„What time should they be there?“ Rhaegar directs the question at the faithful knight walking alongside him. Arthur seems to respond as his head turns toward the other man, however not as loudly as Cersei would like.

„What are they speaking of?“ She asks quietly of Jaime, who is leaned against the very wall near the steps that serves as her own place of reclusion. When he simply rolls his cat-green eyes, Cersei pays him no heed. Instead, she turns her gaze back to the fast-approaching king.

„The better question is what are you doing? Is this your plan? To follow the man around, hopelessly watch from the distance? I have to admit, dear sister, such a thing seems a tad pathetic.“

The stormy, warning look she gives him has Jaime sully, but not much more than he already was.

„You will see.“ Is her only reply, quietly pronounced before she is distracted, her green eyes widening with anticipation. Jaime does not have as clear a line of view as she, so when in the next moment she lifts her heavy skirts abruptly moving  ahead until a thud is heard, he finds himself baffled. Then, a sound of a loud exhale is heard before there is commotion.

„Arthur, get a maester.“ Jaime hears Rhaegar's level voice, not sure what just occurred. The moment he is certain he can cast a look that would arise minimal suspicion, he does. It is his fair, golden Cersei, seemingly unconscious in the king's arms. _Of course she fell unconscious._ How long had he known her, as long as he knew himself. Only she could do something as theatrical as this, and then expect it to yield any results. She could feign all she wanted, none of it would be enough to charm the king into marrying her.

 The king is absolutely calm, even if somewhat baffled judging by his expression, as he carries her stoically like a steadily moving statue to what seems to be the closest available chamber.

* * *

 

„Grand Maester Pycelle.“ Rhaegar impatiently addresses the elder man who walks out of the chambers and to the hallways as slow as he can, it seems. Rhaegar did not wish to be here, he wanted to be there when Lyanna arrived, he wanted to surprise her by waiting for her at the Blackwater Bay. And yet, a quarter of an hour lost here, a quarter there, by the time the Grand Maester was found and the Lady of Lannister regained consciousness, he'd lost his purpose in riding out. If he did right now, he would likely miss her galley arriving as well as be absent at the time she finally reached the Red Keep.

„Your Grace, if I may give my opinion. The lady had likely lost consciousness due to exhaustion, which was why she lost her balance as well. She also has a badly sprained ankle from her foot slipping from the step, but it should heal properly in time. 'Tis a good thing that you caught her, it could have been a dangerous fall.“

 _All of this for a sprained ankle._ Rhaegar could not have removed himself from the situation right away, it wouldn't have been seen as courteous. He needn't it be spoken that he is knocking ladies out of consciousness left and right, and not even lingering to ask for their health afterwards.

„Very well. Thank you, Grand Maester.“ Rhaegar gives a small nod before he turns to retreat to his study.

Walking in, a small smile of a pleasant surprise springs to his lips as he sees a black velvet box on his desk, likely sent in during his absence. Approaching his desk, flipping the lid up, Rhaegar could see he had been right in his assumption.

Trailing a finger over the smooth surface of the shiny grey-blue jewel, Rhaegar took a moment to admire the stone. The jewel in question had been Lyanna's pendant, its broken silver chain repaired before it was sent down by the court jeweller. At Dragonstone, Rhaegar would often see her reaching to clutch to it, only to remember it wasn't around her neck.

 Oh, he missed her, he longed for her every day that they had spent separated. It had been foolish of him to think that he could fill those long six moons of her planned absence with council meetings and diplomatic duties and not find himself painfully aching for her presence. His daughter's presence provided him with rare moments of emotional fulfillment and joy, yet he still felt a hole in his heart whenever he would crawl into a cold, empty bed, with not even her scent on the pillow to remember her by.

The last week's meeting with his mother had been upsetting in many ways, but at least it had given him an excuse to summon her earlier. Even Jon Connington agreed doing such was preferable from keeping the lions thinking the position of queen consort had remained unfulfilled. Now that her return was nearing, Rhaegar found a strange excitement boiling within him at the thought, unsettling him. The notion had him pace over the length of his study, reach his windows where an impatient hand drew the curtains before his gaze felt drawn to the ground before the main gates. With sight, he longs for a glimpse of her small, lean figure atop of her chestnut mare, for he is certain she won't be stepping foot into a wheelhouse. He searches, but he does not find. It provokes a small sigh, before his attention is distracted toward his own doors.

Ser Arthur, of who he had no clue was at his doors, proclaims. „Your Grace, Lady Cersei is here to see you.“

„Lady Cersei?“ Rhaegar frowns. Did he not personally leave that woman in a chamber to rest, but a breath ago? What was she doing here, and with a sprained ankle? Knowing Arthur likely had less answers than he himself did, Rhaegar lets out a small sigh. „Bring her in.“

„Your Grace.“ She cries dramatically as she breaches the distance from the doors to him, with a limp that is obvious even under her long courtly skirts. Feeling slightly discomforted with how close she'd approached, Rhaegar took a small step back, just enough to keep her at arm's length. „Lady Cersei.“ He returns in a level voice. „To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?“ The implication, however polite, had been deceitful.

„Oh, Your Grace, you saved me. I have been told of how you kept me from harm, how I could have fallen. I just wanted to express my gratitude, and apologize for running into you in such manner.“ There's a small pout on her lips as she says this, her head inclined downward, her shiny golden tresses spilling over her shoulders.

„None of that is truly necessary, my lady.“ Rhaegar returns calmly as he observed the woman who seemed frazzled, and yet somehow not. „I only hope that you are feeling well. I was told that your ankle is sprained.“

Cersei nods vigorously. „It is, Your Grace. It hurts not, now that the Grand Maester had given me some milk of the poppy, and that I am within your presence.“ _Milk of the poppy?_ That had been an easy enough explanation for the lady's bizarre behavior, Rhaegar thought. Grateful he would not have to come up with one of his own, he moved to gently finish this conversation before the situation got out of hand. 

„In any case, my lady, you should keep off it for a while. It will heal faster. I do wish you a very fast recovery from your injury.“

„Oh Your Grace, I need to confess something, will you hear it?“ She asks breathlessly, two large green eyes like emeralds shining in plead as they rested on his.

 _I am going to regret this._ \- was all Rhaegar thought before he reluctantly spoke. „You may, if you wish.“

„I have this faint memory, of you holding me in your arms, how _strong_ you were. I never before in my life quite felt the way I did then. I need you to know that.“ She breathed, her eyes glazed over as she approached even closer, placing her hand on his chest.

„My lady, that- “ Rhaegar started as he moved yet another step backwards, but soon he found he couldn't even finish his thought from the abrupt press of her lips to his. Confused and utterly unsettled, Rhaegar pulled away after a mere second it took for the shock to wear off. This woman _kissed_ him, and he couldn't even hold her accountable in her clouded state.

„My lady, you cannot do that.“ He hears himself saying as he physically holds her shoulders, keeping her at a sufficient distance. By the Gods, he did not wish to deal with another advance on her part. The words he spoke had been the first thing that crossed his mind; Rhaegar did not know what was an appropriate thing to say in such a situation, if there was an appropriate thing to say in this thoroughly unbecoming situation. He only prayed she might not remember it later.

When the doors open once more, giving him an excuse to move, Rhaegar finds himself immensely relieved, and even more so for the fact it didn't happen a second before. That was a sight he did not wish to explain to anyone, not even Arthur.

„Her grace, the queen is here. Shall I introduce her in?“ Arthur's voice inquires and Rhaegar says with half a breath. „Yes, please do.“ Turning his back to the doors as he turned toward his windows, still trying to gather his wits after this rather discomforting and bizarre event, Rhaegar was grateful for his mother's announced presence.

Choosing to ignore the lady for everyone's sake, he stayed turned toward the windows, shortly wondering as he studied what seemed to be a recently arriving wheelhouse. When he hears a shuffle of fabric behind him, he takes a breath before he turns. „Mother...“

The sight before him renders him useless with elation instead.

„Her Grace, the queen consort.“ Lyanna says in her husky voice through which he can hear a smile as much as he can see it on her pretty red lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mic drop*


	46. Of Lust and Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Unfortunately, I might not be able to upload anymore as fast as I would want to, but I will keep doing so as frequently as I can. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter!

When she enters, by the gods, the sight before her is rather peculiar. Turning around at the sound of her voice, his eyes falling upon her, Rhaegar is stunned enough before his features blossom into an expression of pleasant surprise and his dark indigo eyes look to her so kindly that his gaze feels like a caress upon her skin. He is all Lyanna sees for a second or two, as he watches to her mutely however gladly, with his jaw dropped it seemed, even if it had been him that summoned her here. But then, there is this shadow, this crimzon, sumptuously dressed female silhouette in the corner of her mind that finally causes her gaze to stray to the side.

„Lady Cersei.“ She breathes, even before she had the time to study the lady's expression. From Ashara, Lyanna had learned that the Lannister woman had been Elia's lady in waiting, so she was not terribly surprised at seeing that she resides in court. However, with another glance, Lyanna finds the expression upon the woman's features baffles her, even if her presence does not. Surely, their acquainting at Harrenhal hadn't been the most pleasant thing in the world, but this woman looked to her less with silent disdain, and more with raging hate. If her shining emerald eyes so ruthlessly fixed on her own were true daggers, Lyanna was sure that being in the line of them would be a dangerous feat for her.

The lady moves her jaw as if to speak, but it seems she changes her mind. Her face is now contorted into something Lyanna would deem a painful grimace, turning her fair features almost grotesque. She thinks there is even a shine of angry tears swimming in the lady's eyes that she can see.

When Cersei moves toward the doors, it is quite forceful before she abruptly comes to a halt in line with Lyanna. Watching to her as she breathes harshly, the lady spares her another burning glance of death before she flicks her skirts away, and neck straightened and nose up, makes her way through the open doors.

It takes Lyanna a second to compose herself after the lady takes her leave, wondering about her reaction. When she finally remembers where she was, and _why_ she was there, she turns her gaze back to where she remembered Rhaegar to stand. Turning, Lyanna takes a startled breath when she realizes that now he was standing right before her. Oh, he was so beautiful. Looking at him now, it seems to her that she had somehow forgotten the full extent of it.

„What just happened?“ She breathes softly, even as she feels her eyes and her mind getting lost in those bottomless dark eyes.

„Later.“ He answers in a low, husky tone as he nears, so close that she feels the breeze of that last syllable against her lips. Lyanna grinned in that split second it took her to wrap her arms around his neck and, rising to her toes, press her lips to his awaiting ones. Her mouth are soon open under his, her skin is burning where it touches his, the bottom of her belly tingling with achingly slow licks of fire as she feels his hand trail down her back. Wonton as she might be, Lyanna does not care about it, she does not care about it one bit.

She feels so slight against him, she always does when he is so tall, taller than most men and unusually strong even if his body is so beautifully lean. Soon, she feels herself carried until there is a harsh, sturdy surface behind her back. She angles her hips to lean against it, the edge of his table. He has her there and he kisses her, he never stops kissing her and soon she is out of breath, but somehow it doesn't matter.

When he finally breaks it off, there is a spark of desire in his eye as he looks to her silently, gauging her own emotions of it. 

Suddenly, that which had occupied her mind for a near entirety of her trip returns, and Lyanna finds herself with a burning desire to share it with him. _Oh I should tell him, I have to tell him..._

Slowly pulling away from the hot kiss Lyanna takes a moment to take a deep breath as she leans her forehead against his. He seems to sense there is something she needs the break for because he doesn't not lean in again. Instead, his bottomless eyes watch to hers inquisitively, the look in them somehow having the effect of setting her at ease.

Before she has a chance to take a breath and speak, Rhaegar gives her another sweet kiss on her lips before he departs from the cradle of her thighs.

„I have something to give you.“ he says.

Moving away from her, he picks up something from a black velvet box Lyanna only then noted on his desk. Then, he walks around the sturdy desk she is still leaned against, soon standing so that her back is turned to him. She feels his fingers on the back of her neck, moving her short dark curls out of the way, before she feels a coldness of the metal and a familiar weight atop her chest.

Lyanna touches a hand to her pendant as he secures the clasp. „You had it repaired, my mother's pendant.“ She says with breathless amazement.

When he returns to his position of standing face to face with her, Rhaegar can see that familiar fondness, joy lighting up her features that reminds him of their prolonged time in the Tower of Joy, where she laughed and smiled and thrilled more than anything else, all the woes ending with the stone steps they meandered to the top room of the tower. She was always beautiful, when she smiled and when she frowned, even her anger had an endearing edge to it. He would have it all, as long as he was allowed to kiss the worry of her brow and soothe away any offense he did not intend.

„I did, my love.“ He tells her as he moves the fallen dark locks from her forehead. The silent look in her eyes prompts him to once more cup the side of her face and angle it for another kiss. This time it is gentler and sweeter, with less rush even if he finds himself equally burning for her. She seems to shudder and tremble under his every touch, more tender in all her movements than usual, he thinks, even if it might be his own eagerness for her that deceives him. At this rate, he will have to carry her up to his bedroom, and anyone who might see be damned.

With a soft, breathless sigh, she breaks off the kiss. „I have to tell you something.“ She tells him and he would frown if not for that odd spark in her eye that enchants him.

„What is it, my love?“ He asks as his fingers trace the soft, soft skin of her cheek.

Deep grey eyes looking at him as a slight smile lingers on her lips, Lyanna lets herself breathe softly. „I am with child.“

His reaction is a lot of things at once, the initial wave of disbelief, momentarily unguarded joy as those dark indigo eyes look to her. „Truly?“ He seems to be holding back his happiness as he blinks, getting over the surprise. To aid him in such a task, Lyanna reaches with her hand for his larger one, and presses it against her midriff. „Truly.“ She tells him seriously as she looks to him.

Rhaegar lets her do it, still shocked, bewildered as he looks to his hand atop her midriff, and then to her. _He is the Prince that was Promised, and his is the Song of Ice and Fire._ The images of that same dark-haired boy that haunted him in his dreams, images that stole his calm and made him question his entire destiny, they rush back so fast into his head. The little dark-haired boy with eyes the color of Valyrian steel, the mirror image of his mother. _The savior of the world..._

„Lyanna, I...“ He begins happily, but he is not sure there are right words. How does he do it, how does he express this overwhelming feeling of elation that floods him at this news. Lyanna, seeing his struggle, she leans in, lets her small, pale hand trace over his cheekbone before her fingers rest on his lips. „Hush.“ She tells him in a whisper. „Come here.“ When her face angles upward, joy and desire glistening in her eyes as she watches to him, and Rhaegar's own eyes once more fall to her ruby red lips, the only natural thing happens without either of their conscious bidding.

At first it is a gentle kiss, a silent declaration of eternal love Rhaegar feels will consume him from the inside unless he finds the most proper way to express it. Then it turns more fervent, hotter as her mouth opens under his, her fists twine in his silver tresses and she holds him in the lock of her thighs. It gets him so unbelievably excited that his body moves all by itself as he leans further into her, kisses her with more passion than he ever thought he could muster before he met her. His hand moves up her leg, hiking up her dark skirts from her knee and up her thigh, to reveal the pale, milky skin under. The moan she produces sends so many shivers through him that he has to pull back to regain his breath, and most of all, his wits.

„Someone is going to walk in on us,“ he breathes in a low voice that is not entirely regretful, but rather uncertain, as if he wants her to assure him otherwise.

„Do it.“ She cannot help but say, still breathless from his kisses. „By the gods, please just, I don't care...“ She doesn't get to finish her sentence for soon his mouth is on hers again, and she cannot think. She cannot do a thing but feel his tongue in her mouth and his hands all over her. The contact is briefly lost as he abruptly releases her, moving past her only to push the few things that were on his desk until with a thunderous thud, it's all on the floor.

Lyanna, she laughs loudly, she cannot help it as he pushes her back on the bare desk. His lips once again meet her own, and her back arches up to allow his hand to snake between the two surfaces and pull on the laces of her gown. It proves to be a difficult task, enough for him to give up with frustration, and reach for the edge of her skirts instead. 

The neckline of her dark dress is wide enough that the edges of it have completely slipped of her shoulders, baring the tops of her small breasts, the pale column of her neck that is slightly obscured by the jagged edges of her locks. At this angle, her eyes lined with thick eyelashes are a deepest dark grey, her skin is flushed, and her lips are red and parted, still raw from his kisses. Rhaegar moved to bite at that place between her neck and shoulder; as he did, a hand moved to in between her thighs. His fingers sought out the edge of her smallclothes, before he sets on slowly stroking her through the fabric.

  „Oh Rhaegar, oh right there.“  Lyanna pushes back, wanting him to rid her of the garment, wanting to have his long, lean fingers inside of her. She wanted him to play her like his harp, wanted to burn under his touch until there was nothing but ashes left of her.

When he finally complies, biting her lip bloody is all she can do to keep from screaming out for the sake of whichever unlucky member of the Kingsguard was outside to hear.

* * *

 

When the exhaustion of their affair tumbles them both back into his chair, Rhaegar tries to settle his breathing but it is proven more difficult with the feel of her bare thighs still slightly trembling against his clothed lap. Fingers of one hand intertwined in her soft, dark locks while the other rests on her hip, he holds her close, breathing in that scent that lingers around her neck. Her own breathing is troubled, unsettled as she leans against him, thin arms supporting her slight weight around his neck.

Once that the temporary void his mind has become fills once again with joyous news she had bestowed upon him, Rhaegar lets his hand slip over her waist and to her belly. A spring of life quickened there, a little wolf of both Lyanna's and his own blood. _The promise the world needed kept._ His attention is once again distracted towards her when he feels her forehead leaning against his. Then, her small hand rises to his lips.

„We will have a babe.“ She tells him, fingers rubbing back and forth there as she watches to him, the gesture oddly reminiscent of the one from his dreams.

„We will.“ He confirms as his free hand rises to provide a gentle caress upon her cheek. „And I will love both of you more than my lifesblood.“

„I love you.“ She simply replies in that delightfully husky, warm voice, yet serious, and it makes him burn for her all over again. When her head angles forward, lips seeking out his once more, the contact never comes for soon they are distracted by a knock on the doors.

Her hands sliding down from his chest, Lyanna moves to her feet abruptly, quick although rather unsuccessful in straightening out her clothes. That lovely blush still sits upon her cheeks and her hair is beyond messy. The groan she produces when she sees the mess of his quill, spilled ink and papers on the floor contributes to the scene he finds rather charming.

„Don't worry, my love.“ Rhaegar tells her. „The Kingsguard had already seen it all, and they had surely seen worse.“ The remark sounds less heavy-handed than it should be, he thinks. Those knights had guarded his own parents' marriage chambers, which ought to have unsettled even the most detached of men.

Shedding the thought, Rhaegar lets himself stand up, a relaxed smile on his face. He pulls on his crooked collar before he calls for the man on the other side of the doors to come in.

Walking in, Arthur stammered for half a heartbeat, taking in the sight of the disheveled royal couple. „Your Grace.“ He addresses the king, before his head turns to nod to Lyanna. His brows furrow slightly as his gaze is drawn to the unbecoming clutter of writing utilities on the floor. Noting his queen blushing with the corner of his eye, he makes a quick decision not so to stare.

„Arthur, what is it?“ Rhaegar is relaxed as he asks this, even more so than usual. Arthur made a not so far reached conclusion it had to do with the Lyanna's arrival.

„I apologize for the interruption, Your Grace...“

„We weren't doing anything.“ Lyanna cuts in with a guilty bite of her lip. Arthur could swear the blush on her cheeks deepened as she looked away after her declaration.

„It matters not.“ Rhaegar reassures the knight. „Is there anything you needed of me?“

„Yes, Your Grace.“ Arthur leans slightly forward in his white armor. „I was told princess Rhaenys is very adamant in asking for your company. The princess had scraped her knee playing and isn't truly allowing her caretakers to take a look at it. The septa says she hates to trouble you, but...“

„'Tis something Elia used to do.“ Rhaegar breathes forlornly. „'Tis no trouble, I shall go see her. Would you like to come and meet her, my love?“ He directs the question at Lyanna and she gives a small sniffle.

„Perhaps 'tis not the best time. She wants you, she is likely not in the mood for strange company if she is hurt.“ Rhaegar gives a small, understanding nod in agreement before he motions for the other knight to get on his way before his own long limbs move him toward the doors .

Halfway through the room, Rhaegar stops with a vague thought before he turns around to gaze upon her once more, not even he knows why. Then, he remembers. „Shall I have your things taken to my own rooms? Or if you prefer to have your own chambers, I am sure one had already been appointed to you in the Maidenvault by my mother. I myself am staying there for the time being.“

Lyanna considered such a thing. From what she could guess, the queen would not be terribly pleased if she were to share rooms with Rhaegar. For some reason, such a thing had been frowned upon as a royal practice, that was something she had learned from Ashara when the matter of Elia's chambers came up. Even if she wanted him near her as much as he was willing to have her, Lyanna did not wish for his mother's scorn after everything.

„If I have my own chambers, will you come visit me often?“ Lyanna inquires instead, with a small bite to her lip as she does. She finds that the warmth in his gaze answers the question well enough for her.

* * *

 

When she finally reaches her chambers, the tears burning in her eyes, blinding her and yet not as much as a kindling rage within her did, Cersei allows a long awaited scream to her lips. Nay it wasn't a scream, she decided as her teeth grinded together to the point of pain, it was a roar. A roar from a wounded lioness, and as such one who would seek vengeance.

 „I hate you, Lyanna Stark. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!“ She lets the words tumble from her reddened lips, quivering with disgust. Her cheek burned, her eyes burned, her insides contained the largest fire of them all. When her green eyes move to the nearby candlestand, showing her her own distorted image in its thin, polished column, she feels so irritated with its existence her hand twitches toward it by itself, the force tumbling the silver it to the floor. For a short moment it pleases her, the reverberating thud the object makes as it meets the floor until there's silence, silence, silence again.

She should have shown her the lioness she was, she should have ripped out all of her hair out of her head, scratch at her face so bloody that her looks may never recover. What else did she have to lose? Her crown had been stolen from her, her king had been stolen from her. If she couldn't have him, how could another woman have him...

„I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!“ She screamed, chanted the words that rose to her aching throat like the most bitter of tastes, something to be spat like venom, screamed out until she was no longer with voice.

 _I hate you, I hate you!_ When she finds herself above a savagely ripped over feather pillow in the next instant, Cersei did not quite recall how she got there as she looked to the fruit blade in her trembling hand, red tracks of force imbedded in her skin where the handle pressed with force. The blade unceremoniously fell beside her feet short after her hold on it ceased.

They were supposed to have children, her and Rhaegar...three children with great beauty, and their mind as sharp as their father's. She was supposed to be queen, she was born to rule. The chance of it slipped right through her fingers. Nay, that was not right. She didn't lose it, it was stolen from her. How could such a thing happen, there was no right explanation.

The bouquet of roses at the nightstand makes her reconsider through the ever more distorted lens of rage, with the price of the crystal vase shattering against the floor. It does little to quell her rage.

That crown of blue roses, it all started with that crown. How did she not see it? What did that wolf bitch have that she didn't have? She must have given herself to him freely, the Northern whore. She must have enchanted him, poisoned his mind, made him a slave to his desires. Perhaps she stayed with child, and that filthy family of hers forced her Rhaegar into marrying the bitch once the princess died. Oh Rhaegar, the most beautiful man she'd ever known, he was supposed to be hers. She was supposed to be his. It just couldn't be his fault, it couldn't be, he must have been cornered, trapped into this by those Northern bastards. _They would pay. All of them would pay._ Cersei decided as her fists clenched and her lips tightened under the burn that was the salt of her tears. _They had to pay..._

It must have been the devils themselves that drew her to the windows, to the sight of the Northern whore tending to her dirty animal. Cersei's fists clenched in the slippery fabric of the golden curtains, as she imagined it was the she-wolf's breath that her force was squeezing out. Even from the distance, she could see a peaceful smile on what Cersei knew were obscenely perfect lips even if admitting such a notion made another wave of excruciatingly burning ire flare up within her, making fresh tears of rage forge behind her eyes.The biggest flaw Cersei could find on her was that her breasts were noticeably smaller than her own even if more firm, but such a thing seemed so insignificant, petty, when she thought back to all that she lost to her. Her king, her intended purpose, her crown. What hurt her the most, made her want to scream was how happy and serene she seemed, without a care in the world, not a single thorn in her side, while she herself was left in bitterness of defeat.

The thought of it made Cersei's face contort into another grimace, which had the effect of disgusting her further as she saw a glimpse of it in the reflection of the glass. Turning her back to her own image, her lips trembling her fists still curled into the curtains, she fell to her knees with sudden exhaustion. Once she was done with her, she will wish she had never been born, Cersei promised herself with all of her fervency. For each and every one of her shed tears she would pay in blood. She would make sure of it, even if that would be the last thing she does.  

 


	47. Repairing the Damage

A small knock on the doors snaps Rhaegar's head up from his daughter's scraped knee. Before he invites in whoever was the cause of the disturbance, he looks to his daughter's dark, still misted eyes. She did not take too kindly to his attempts of cleaning the scraped, bloody skin she earned chasing after her black kitten, much preferring him after he had fixed the bandage.

Rhaegar places a small kiss to his daughter's forehead, then he bids entrance to the man or woman on the other side of the doors. It is his squire, with a brief information that Jon Connington wishes to speak to him urgently. Even before the doors shut once more, Rhaenys gives him a regretful look that pointed to the fact she did not wish for him to leave. He doesn't want to leave either, he would rather sit there with her and read her a story than listen to his Hand fret over a hundred-and-one problem that arose in his brief absence. Yet, duty called as it always did, and, giving his daughter a small pat on the head, Rhaegar moves to rise from his position of kneeling on the floor. It is her small hand, weakly grabbing to his, that stops him.

 „Papa, will you come back soon?“ She asks of him, the angle at which she looks to him only serves to emphasize how little she truly was. A child that would not understand excuses, only actions.

„I will, my darling, as soon as I can.“ He assures softly. „You be a good girl while I am gone.“ He warns. „No more chasing after Balerion on the steps. You could have hurt yourself even worse. Can I trust that you won't worry me like this further?“  He inquires with a firm gaze, satisfied only when she gives an ardent nod.

This hadn't been the first time his little daughter had exhibited reckless behavior after her mother's death. His own mother, the queen suggested it had been a cry for attention, one ought not be indulged for her own good; thus, her caretakers were instructed to act accordingly. By what Rhaegar had seen, it did more harm than good. He hoped a different, gentler approach might make a positive difference.

 „Very well, my darling.“ He commends his child in her obedience.  Rhaegar places another kiss on her forehead before he finally departs.

 

* * *

 

„What is this urgent issue, pray tell?“ Rhaegar cuts right to the chase, walking to stand behind his sturdy desk. The items on it are perfectly arranged, the ink, his quill and clean, fresh papers, suggesting a servant had tended to the clutter left behind. After having Lyanna on it, Rhaegar doubted he would ever see the table in the same light again. Now, as he watched to the edge of it, his mind flashed with an image of her pale hand gripping there, knuckles turning white hardly an hour before.

Shaking off the distracting thought, he spares a look to his Hand who had already begun speaking.

„Your Grace, I believe the matter of Jaime Lannister needs to be discussed. After you'd received the letter from Tywin Lannister, I assumed it was a given that you would grant his request. Imagine my surprise when I saw the lion in the hallways, doing his regular Kingsguard duty. I could only assume you haven't spoken to him yet, or that you decided to deny the request, either of things I believe need to be followed up on. “

Rhaegar gives a small nod. „I did, in fact, speak with him. I gave him a choice to stay in my service, or to return to being Lord Tywin's heir apparent. He denied the opportunity.“

„Forgive me, Your Grace, but why did you find it necessary to give him a choice? It is your call, you do not have to take into account his desires...“

With a small sigh, Rhaegar thrummed his fingers on the surface of his desk, not sure how to explain his decision. „I just...I see potential in him. I think he is a valuable man to be kept around. And frankly, granting Lord Tywin's requests isn't my top priority right now.“

„Perhaps it should be.“ Jon is bold enough to suggest, his live eyes still on the king's. „I do not claim the boy has done wrong, but he is a Lannister after all. Keeping him so close and his father ired might be a recipe for disaster.“

„Which is why we will have to find another way to placate Lord Tywin.“ Rhaegar reasons. „I've considered offering him a position on the Small Council, as my Master of Coin. I am sure the man appreciates his heir, but he appreciates power even more.“

Jon gives a small nod as he impatiently shifts on his heels. „I agree with Your Grace's assessment. It could be enough to settle his relation to the crown, but you will not be sure until you get his response. What if he denies the position?“

„If he denies the position...“ Rhaegar stalls as a thoroughly uncomfortable thought rushes into his head. „It means he has plans of his own, that might include circumventing myself. In that case, we will have to take other action.“

„That could mean war.“ Jon voices what both men already think. „Is it really worth it, keeping Ser Jaime at the cost of such a risk?“

Rhaegar gives a sigh. „If lord Tywin has plans, I doubt they are solely dependant on that. What tells me he won't start a war against me as soon as I free his intended heir? This way, if something was to happen, at least we can play off Ser Jaime as a valuable hostage. You know as well as I do that Lord Tywin would dread having anything happen to him. His rightful heir in that case would be his younger son which committed the apparently unforgivable sin of being an imp. Tywin won't risk his own head and Jaime's head at the same time. To do so would mean endangering his house and his family line.“

 Jon gives a small smile at this. „Very well, I have to admit I haven't quite thought of it that way, even if the subject of heirs was on my mind in another context. I believe Your Grace's way is the way to go, then.“

Rhaegar felt his mind stalled on something he just heard. „You thought about heirs? Whose heirs?“

„Your own, Your Grace.“ Jon is quick to reply. „That is another subject I wished to speak to you about. Considering Prince Aegon's untimely death, currently, princess Rhaenys is your one and only child, therefore your heir even if female. Dorne...might wish to take advantage of such a situation, they would have a lot to gain. I think 'tis important to have all possible outcomes in mind.“

„You are saying they would want to see me dead before I have another child? Jon, is there anyone in these kingdoms who doesn't want to lead a war against me?“ Rhaegar asks with mirth he doesn't truly feel.

„The Northerners, Your Grace.“ Jon replies, always one for a well-placed quip. „Your marriage to Lady Lyanna assured that, and it can only be cemented further by you two sharing a child. Which is something I would deem preferable to happen as soon as possible. You need a son, Your Grace.“

 _I had a son._ Rhaegar finds himself thinking with a sudden weight in his chest. Lips tightened, he informs the other man dryly. „Then you would be happy to know Lady Lyanna is already with child.“

„In that case, congratulations, Your Grace.“

„Now that this matter is settled, is there anything else?“ Rhaegar looks to the man impatiently; for some reason it irked him to spend the entirety of the day dealing with these issues, when he had planned at least having this one day for Lyanna and himself. Such had been the case even before he learned she was with child, that it was the Promised Prince that grew in her belly. Knowing it now, still trying to completely wrap his mind around it, Rhaegar yearned to do so in her company. Thinking to having another child had been bittersweet for him when he was left by himself.

Another deep breath taken from Jon assures that he is far from being done. „I called a meeting of the Small Council to discuss the debts the crown has toward some petty lords in the Crownlands. It is no large amount of coin, we can cover it but your late father neglected to do so, out of what I understood was spite more than reason. _If_ there is a war, we need every ally we can get. We cannot have petty lords hesitate with providing numbers for an army if necessary. I thought, perhaps you would like to join the meeting. We have been discussing these matters in your absence, but Your Grace's input would be much appreciated.“

Rhaegar supposed it would be inappropriate for a new king to make a habit of leaving his council high and dry. Nodding in agreement with that thought, he takes lead toward the doors.

 Not more than two steps later in the hallway, he sees a sight that excites him as much as it does always, Lyanna approaching from the other side of the corridor, a sweet, charming smile of her face as she walks briskly toward him. Pulling to a halt before him, she allows her graceful, pale hands to rest on his chest. „I was told you were seen around here.“ She tells him happily, and Rhaegar already regrets that he will have to disappoint her by not granting her his presence. _Later_ , his brain whispered _, I will see her later._

He doesn't spring the news on her right away, he enjoys her luminous eyes and the airy smile on her red lips too much. Instead, he pulls her to him, placing a soft kiss on her forehead that was always so perfectly in line with his lips when she stood before him.

„I apologize, Your Grace, but we must be on our way.“ Comes the dry voice of Jon Connington, one that reminds him of his entirely forgotten presence. Pulling away from her to introduce them, Rhaegar sees a smallest perception of a pout on her lips as wide eyes watch to him, before he turns his full attention to Jon. Now was as good as time to introduce them as any.

„My love, this is Jon Connington, Hand of the King. Jon, this is my wife and your queen Lyanna.“

„Your Grace.“ Jon nods toward her but doesn't offer to kiss her hand. Lyanna minds not, now she didn't have to curtsey at the least. Instead, she returns the same brief attention. „Lord Connington.“

„I apologize, Your Grace, but we ought to be on our way.“ He claims next, eyes immediately on Rhaegar as if he expected her to tuck her tail and run off in another direction at his words. Something about the implication irked Lyanna and she does none of it. Rhaegar makes a gesture that is much more to her liking, when he addresses the other man. „You can move ahead of me, Jon. I will be right there.“

This Jon nods curtly at Rhaegar's words and indeed departs silently. As she looked to his figure retreating, something about his demeanor suggested to Lyanna he respected Rhaegar and not many others. Her attention is soon distracted when she feels a familiar hand warmly cupping her cheek. Like she did every time, Lyanna slightly inclined her head as her way of returning the affection while she looked to him.

„I will come to your chambers in the evening.“ He promises her in a low voice, and Lyanna finds herself content with it, even if she planned on stealing him away sooner. With a shy smile and a bite of her lip, she rises on her toes to steal a small kiss, before she moves in the opposite direction from the one Jon took, a brisk spring in her step.

 


	48. Of Lions, Wolves and a Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hope this is to your liking :)

„Gods be good, what have you done?“ Jaime frowns as his gaze falls to the utter mess of broken glass, disemboweled pillows and ripped sheets that were only the first thing that caught his eye on the floor of his sister's chambers. When he receives no response, Jaime lets himself move cautiously, wondering if she was even present.

„Cersei?“ He lets himself ask into the air before his gaze falls to the sight of her figure curled against the wall beneath the windows, her fingers uncomfortably clutching the pulled curtain. He is quick in approaching her, kneeling beside her as he moves to smooth away her spilled golden tresses from her face that is averted from him. When he completes the task he set upon, he sight that meets him is frightening, and that was saying a lot considering just how much of her he'd seen throughout their lives. Her green eyes were dead with despondence and alive with hate at the same time, if such a thing was possible. Her expression was still otherwise, like carved in stone, save for the smallest semblance of her bottom lip quivering. It leaves no doubt in his mind.

„You know.“ He voices simply. It makes something new, something angry and dangerous spark behind her red-rimmed eyes.

„What do you mean, I know? Since when do you know, why didn't you tell me? Why?!“ Her fists start beating against his chest as she bellows, but the Kingsguard armor has her feeling the impact of it more than he. It seems all her energy had already been consumed by the tantrum he could still see evidence of, since she stops without any of his attempts to calm her. She simply leans against him, calm and docile in a way she never was, and Jaime lets his hand rest in her golden tresses.

„Hush, it will all be alright.“ He tells her in attempt of consolation, although he almost cringes at just how void the words were. This was not them, this was not them at all. It felt bizarre, this enactment of her having true emotions and him having a genuine interest in them. Shedding such a useless thought, his brows furrow as he briefly considers how to entertain the suspicion she voiced but a second ago. „I did not know before you did. I just found out.“ It was a lie, but it was a lie for both their sakes. He did not want for her to consider he carried a part of the blame for her world shattering. She needed him and he wanted her.

„I want revenge.“ she murmurs against his chest. „The she-wolf has to pay.“ Her head rises then, her green eyes watch to him, lifeless with exhaustion. „Do you understand?“ She asks this in a dry, hoarse voice, one that leaves no space for him to do anything other than nod. Inside he doubts; how would she get revenge? There was little, precisely nothing to be done to revert this, and it wasn't like Cersei not to have the end goal in mind. Getting even with Lyanna Stark would do little for her position, it could even hurt it if someone were to find out she inflicted harm on that girl who was more a wolf pup than a woman, enticing protection with those unguarded, childish ways of hers. A bat from those eyes would have Rhaegar put any head of her choice on a spike. Still, Jaime supposed jealousy and envy had their way of making the emotional satisfaction following such a thing override common sense. He decides to indulge her for not entirely selfless reasons.

„Why bother? She is nothing compared to you.“ He says with a sigh, attempting to soothe her bruised ego. „ If he chose her over you, Rhaegar is a fool and he does not deserve you anyway.“

 Wrong answer. When her head shoots up for her burning green gaze to meets his once more, he sees scorn there, intended for himself. „Do not speak of him like that!“ She growls. „This is not his fault.“ Her jaw protrudes and her fist clenches as she shakes off some of her weariness. „She must have bewitched him, enchanted him, cast some Northern spell to affect his wits! But she will not get away with it.“ Her voice turns into an ominous whisper by the end of her sentence. „Nay, she will not.“

„She is queen now. How can you possibly make her regret it?“ Jaime asks with much intended disbelief in his voice, irritated, less inclined to spare her feelings when she did not wish to extend the same courtesy to him. Even when Rhaegar was the direct source of her hurt, she defended him. What did that man have that enchanted all the women around him so, Jaime wasn't sure he understood.

 „Maybe I cannot.“ She returns with a small sniffle as her head falls back down. Both her fists clench into the fabric of her dress before she looks up at him once more, her gaze severe. „But you can.“

* * *

 

Before the doors softly close, the thin shine of a candle from outside sheds light on Lyanna's slumbering form resting atop her bed. Taking long but quiet steps, Rhaegar lets himself in, noting that the only remaining light in the room had been the milk-white glow of moonlight, ghosting over otherwise shadowed sheets.

He spares a second to watch to the peaceful expression on her face, pale glow of her complexion underneath tussled raven tresses. Then, his attention turns toward undoing his cuffs before he sets on unbuttoning his doublet. Softly laying the top garment to the edge of the bed, he moves to shed his dark tunic.

When his chest is bare and his eyes no longer obstructed by the garment going over his head, Rhaegar sees that the commotion, as minimal as he tried make it, roused her. Heavy-lidded grey eyes sleepily watch to him through the darkness only broken by a glow of moonlight, before she moves to rub them with her knuckles. Her husky voice drifts to him with a whiff of sleep in it. „Rhaegar, I am sorry, my love, I wished to wait but I was so tired...“

It doesn't take him long to shift his weight on the bed, arms propping him up on either side of her. Leaning his head, he moves to whisper into the soft skin behind her ear. „I am sorry I am late.“ Indeed, he said evening, even intended to sup with her. Instead, had he been another half an hour late, the time of day would be more suited to be called dawn. When he pulls back, her eyes, they shine to him, letting him know she doesn't hold a grudge. The sleepiness is no longer drawn upon her brow and her attention is fixed to him.

 Rhaegar himself feels a familiar tiredness making his bones heavy, but it does not surpass his desire to just be with her, talk to her which seemed as something they have not done in ages.

„How are you feeling, my love?“ He asks, as his hand reaches to move her dark locks out of the way of her gaze. Only now he realized that what he fretted were symptoms of her head injury were in fact first signs she was with child. He hoped the babe didn't put too much strain on her, the way he knew it had with Elia back then.

„Fine, now that you are here.“ She replies, sweetness in her husky voice eliciting a smile from him.“How did the meeting go?“ She asks then. Rhaegar fears that if he started, he would never stop talking. He would rather have other things on his mind.

„It was long and boring.“ He responds instead, not truly lying. „I wished I was here the whole time.“ He adds in a murmur as he watches to her, his hand softly seeking out her midriff. He feels the silky touch of the fabric of her shift against the harshness of his palm, and underneath, warmth. Her own, smaller hand closes over his, like she guarded him while he guarded her. In a lot of ways, it feels true.   

„You seem upset.“ She voices, not as eager to drop the subject as he. 

 „There are certain things, certain _damages_ the course of my father's reign allowed to happen, and now 'tis up to me to repair them. For one, the relationship of the crown with all the Great Houses, namely Tywin Lannister at this time.“

„Tywin Lannister?“ Lyanna thoughtfully repeats the name. „Is that why that Lannister woman was in your office when I arrived?“

Rhaegar gives a tired nod, before his hand moves over his face. „Tywin Lannister was my father's Hand once upon a time. But they had a dispute over the late Lady Lannister, which was the end of the man's positive relations with the crown. It is up to me to repair it, and they expected...with Elia's death...“

„That you would marry her, Lady Cersei?“ Lyanna asks, her brows furrowing. Then, she exhales. „'Tis no wonder that woman hates me, then.“

 „Hates you? If she has done anything...“

The feathery touch of her fingers against his lips shushes him. „She did nothing, my love. 'Tis just, I can tell. You should have seen the look she gave me before she departed from your chambers.“

„And you should have seen the kiss she gave me, just before.“ He quips lightheartedly.

„What? That woman kissed you? Did you kiss her back?“ Lyanna asks severely, finding little mirth in his words. Her hand ceases contact with his face, grey eyes wide as she looks to him. Rhaegar gives a small chuckle, finding amusement in her jealousy. „Not in this world. She was not in her right mind, a sorry side-effect of the milk of the poppy.“

This seems to have little relaxing effect on Lyanna. Still, she is pensive as she looks to him. „I don't want other women kissing you.“ She tells him simply, seriously. Then she once again turns to her back, ceasing eye-contact as her dark locks scatter over her pillows.  

„Duly noted.“ He whispers against her shoulder, before he places a soft kiss on the creamy skin there. „Just so 'tis known, I don't want other women kissing me either.“

„You better not.“ She warns in a serious tone of voice, and he cannot help but smile. „What?“ She asks then, a frown on her lovely features. „I am serious.“   

„There is no need to be serious.“ He assures in a whisper. His hand flies to side of her face turned away from him, trying to beckon her gaze back to his, regain her full attention. „There is you, and only you. I cannot have eyes for any other woman, even if I wanted to.“

This seems to placate her some, as she gives a tight smile and once more turns to him. Her hand rises, fingertips touching to his cheek as glistening eyes watch to him in invitation. Not a breath later, he presses a kiss to her half-open mouth, hand smoothing back soft dark curls from her forehead. It extracts a low moan from her, one that suggests she is convinced.

Once their lips part, with a breathy sigh passing her own, Rhaegar lets himself move down, resting his head over the thump of her heart as his arms wrapped around her. It still stunned him how his fierce she-wolf of the North, creature of ice and snow, could radiate so much warmth. It seemed Starks did not have ice in their veins after all, they were only often surrounded by it. His hand still rests over her belly, and his gaze falls to the translucent, shining surface of her shift tightened over the still flat surface.

„Which one would you like it to be?“ She asks next, a dreamy, breathless quality to her voice. Rhaegar considers his answer before he gives it. „For my own sake, I would be happy either way as long as 'tis our babe and it is healthy. But I fear a boy would make the realm happier.“ The dark-haired, silver-eyed child from his dreams was what he truly desired. The boy who would wield Valyrian steel and bring the world into an era of eternal summer...

„If he is a boy, he will sit on the throne some day? Is that how succession works?“ She asks, but her voice has a worried, instead of an excited edge to it.

„Aye, my love, such is the law of men.“ He answers softly.

„It is a stupid law.“ Lyanna scoffs. „I have always been more glad to be out of succession by my age than by my sex. Were I older than Brandon, I likely would have died seething in jealousy. Especially knowing what a halfwit he is when it comes to such things.“

Rhaegar gives a small chuckle at this. What a strange woman he married, he would never cease to be glad for it. He rises once again, his face in line with hers as he tells her. „My love, if you have ambitions to rule over your Northern lands of eternal snows, just say the word and I shall reconquer them from your brothers and give them all to you. I would make you Lady of Winterfell in your own right.“

She blinks with amusement, a wolfish smile springing to her lips. „Truly? I am afraid if you indulge me, I will like the taste of power and would not stop until I am Queen beyond the Wall as well.“

„Anything, as long as you remember to return to me after your exhausting day of reign.“He murmurs against the lovely, pale skin of her neck, meaning every word of it. As he does it, he feels her slightly shiver under his touch, and it makes him smile.

„That would never work, you in the South and me in the North.“ Lyanna frowns with mock, entertaining the fantasy. „We would need a better choice of transport, it takes horses at least a month to breach the entire length of your kingdoms.“

„We could set up a bed at a half-point, that way it would only take us half as long.“ He whispers against her lips, and she laughs heartedly.

„There is that Inn at the Crossroads, do you think they would mind?“ She asks with a still amused lilt to her voice when she finally regains her breath. Rhaegar places a small kiss to the tip of her nose before he answers. „I do not know, we will have to test that during one of our travels.“

„We will travel? Often?“ She inquires happily, pleased by the thought.

 „As often as you like.“ He returns in a low voice, serious. _At least once we are in firm peace._ „We will surely go visit your family in Winterfell, visit the Wall if you wish, we can go wherever your heart desires.“ Her eyes glisten with elation as she watches to him, more and more with every word, evidence of fact she was indeed pleased. That was all he wanted to do, please her.

„Which one would you wish for?“ He returns the question, then. She gives a soft, confused hum, not sure what he meant. „Our babe, would you wish for a boy or a girl?“

„I would be pleased either way.“ Lyanna says with a breathy sigh, thoughtful.“As long as we make her or him happy. Children should be happy.“ She adds this as an afterthought. Rhaegar wonders about it for an instant, this thing he supposed was true. Rising once more, he evens his face with hers, looking to her with a worried, inquisitive frown. „Were you not happy when you were a child, Lyanna?“ He asks this as if there is some way he can make it right if she says she hadn't been.

„Nay, I was.“ She reassures breathlessly as she watches to him. „That is how I know. It were my brothers who made my childhood wonderful.“ The thought brings a smile to her face as she tells him. „Our own child should have brothers and sisters, or at least cousins.“

 „I am sure it shall be so.“ Feeling his gaze drawn downward to her lips, Rhaegar presses another soft kiss there. „At the very least, our child will have playmates at court. Speaking of which, I heard you brought Lady Ashara and her babe back with you?“

Lyanna looks to him, eyes guarded with shyness before she asks. „Is that alright? I wanted to ask you, but then I would have to send you a raven, and wait for a response and I wanted to see you...“ The sweet admission prompts him to angle his head and kiss at the skin beneath her jaw. It makes a soft chuckle escape her.

„You are allowed to make your own decisions.“ Rhaegar tells her seriously. „I assume you invited her to be your lady-in-waiting?“

Lyanna gives a nod, but then her grey eyes drift off to the side. She absently bites on her lip, lost in thought for an instant. Rhaegar knew what that look meant, she felt guilty over something.

„My love, what is it?“ He prompts immediately, both with curiosity and concern. She seemingly hesitates before she looks to him timidly. „I need to tell you something. But I shall only tell you if you promise you will hear it more as my husband, and less as the king.“

Reasoning that little could make him go back on such a promise, Rhaegar finally gives a nod.

„'Tis about Lady Ashara. And her babe. The girl...she is Brandon's.“ Rhaegar is taken aback for a second, surely not expecting something like that. Considering Harrenhal, he finds the claim is not that improbable after all. „Does he know?“ He asks the next logical thing.

„No.“ Lyanna breathes softly, averting her gaze. When she looks to him again, likely noting his own expression, she breathes with a force behind her words. „Please Rhaegar, do not interfere. Lady Ashara says she only wants to live in peace with her little girl. I can take care of all of their needs...“

„And Brandon is the heir to Winterfell.“ Rhaegar completes her argument for her.

 Lyanna gives a small nod before she sniffles. „Please, if our father hears, he might be irred enough to disinherit him.“

„Would that be such a bad thing?“ Rhaegar asks softly, but the tone does not alleviate the meaning, judging by the expression on her face. „Your second eldest brother seems like he is much more responsible out of the two of them. Perhaps it would be better for everyone.“

Lyanna shakes her head ardently. „Nay Rhaegar, it would not be better. I am their sister, I know them. If father disinherits him, Brandon will be crushed. And besides, Ned does not wish to rule, he never did.“ Every word is spoken with more fervor until she finally takes a breath, brows furrowing as grey pup eyes look to him. She severely fretted over this, that much was clear. This subject tied into the destiny of their kingdoms as much as it was a family matter, but he knew little wasn't political when one was a king or queen. Even if he doubted her objectivity when it came to this matter, Rhaegar wasn't about to go against her wishes on it and break his promise.

„In that case, we are lucky the king is not informed of this.“ He returns in a low voice. The next moment finds him conceding it would be impossible to regret anything that resulted in such a smile.

When she pulls him down for a heated kiss in the next moment, warm, soft and eager beneath him, despite the weariness, there is only so long he can resist before he yields to her desires.


	49. About a Lionknight

Much in contrast to her custom, Lyanna's body lazily lounged in the sheets, her thighs covered with nothing more than a thin, white shift. The silk covers were pooled somewhere under her feet, thrown off even before she found sleep last night. She knew she ought to get up, it was fairly late (Lyanna supposed it was the babe that drained all her energies so), and yet lingering in her sheets had proven itself to be very enjoyable. The cool shadow created by the heavy curtains on her windows drowned the entire space around her bed,  providing her with much needed relief against the general heat that ruled in her chambers.

This morning, Lyanna vaguely remembered being roused by Rhaegar for a morning kiss and a faint excuse before he slipped his lean form into becoming clothing and went about his royal responsibilities with a soft closing of her doors. Even if she hadn't seen him in the light of day for almost the entirety of the week, he'd kept his promise of an evening visit every night. Lyanna supposed it made little difference which chambers were called by which name, as long as he would indeed keep in her vicinity. As much as he could manage with his obligations, that was.

Last night, he'd returned around sundown and they'd supped together in her chambers. It was a new experience for her, laying back on the bed, resisting laughter as he fed her the strawberries that were intended as desert, and yet served as dinner. It was the only thing her unsettled stomach was willing to tolerate. The babe had a more refined taste than she, it seemed.

Later, he'd played his harp for the both of them, much at her incessant prompting. She'd requested a more joyous tune, fearing tears might spring to her eyes otherwise in her tender state. The sweetness of it lulled her into his arms and much needed sleep that she hadn't shaken off just yet.

The sensation of sharing a bed with Rhaegar and doing something other than making love – it had been welcomed in how novel it was. Both in their tower and in Dragonstone, Rhaegar preferred making use out of the dining room for all their meals, often having them be accompanied by the knights in his service. In any case, Lyanna found that both Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell were worthwhile companions for conversation. Their presence and even some of their stories reminded her of her brothers and the loud fasts they used to break together, laughing and japing with little shame. Lyanna would appreciate anything that kept the memory of them burning alive within her.

It had been moons since she'd seen either of them, she realized. When Ned was first sent away to fostering at the Eyrie, she had gotten used to missing him after a few months, even if she cried the saddest tears in the world the day of his departure. She could only bear it with the comfort of having her other two brothers with her.

Winterfell was so far away from her, or rather she was far from it. Thousands of miles and nearly a moon of horse travel. All she could do was console herself, mentally reassuring it had been no more than a temporary thing. Once her marriage to Rhaegar was made public, and she was an established queen in both the eyes of lords, ladies and commoners, traveling to her homeland ought to be easier to come by – Rhaegar promised so himself. If there was any woman who could take joy in excessive traveling, it had to be the queen.

That thought itself still brought the desire to chuckle to her lips, _Queen Lyanna_. It sounded weird, it sounded wrong. Perhaps she would get used to it in time, she hoped. The oddest thing had been responding to _Your Grace_ , while keeping a straight expression. Especially since she had so often considered herself to be graceless, and not in an entirely wrong way. Being graceful often meant being pleasant and accepting, making accommodations and bearing a pleasant smile even when injustices were inflicted upon you. It was how she was expected to treat Robert, with grace. Lyanna tried, gods were her witnesses. Her failure when it came to it made her consider it had been an incapability to behave as such rather than unwillingness that marked that line of her character. It made her grow to admire the skill at times, in other ladies, but she appreciated her own free tongue more. The title simply seemed unfitting - a complaint adjacent to the one she had all her life. She wasn't overly fond of her title as a lady either, unless it was contained within the address of lady knight _,_ which Rhaegar conjured for her and only her.

 _A lady knight doesn't stay in bed all day_ , Lyanna thought with an amused smile as another, particularly insistent sunray created a pattern of light on the drawn curtains that much made her feel like she was a wolf in a dragon lair. Decisive on shedding the laziness from her limbs, Lyanna righted herself in bed, letting her bare feet touch to the ground before she rose up straight. Lowering her weight at her vanity for no more than a few seconds, Lyanna scarcely pulled her wooden comb through her short locks that couldn't be braided for sleep even had she wanted them to be. Solely cutting them reduced the time of her morning routine to half its time. Mayhap it was peculiar, for a queen (or a lady for that matter) to have her tresses shortened so but Lyanna hardly concerned herself with it. The only thing that might have changed her mind was Rhaegar protesting, but such was far from being the case.

Getting bored with her reflection, Lyanna put her comb down and called for her handmaidens. Not a breath later, a thin, mousy girl with straight, blonde tresses and chestnut brown eyes came into view. She curtsied, not lifting her head up. Lyanna found she had no recollection of the girl.

„The name is Mary, Your Grace.“ The girl's thin voice softly croaked. „I have been assigned to your party of handmaidens by the Queen Dowager. Can I prepare you a bath and your attire?“

„Yes, please.“ Lyanna breathed, walking back and taking a seat on the edge of her bed, her legs crossing as the girl dashed past her. Soon, her thin figure disappeared behind the curtain and into the alcove which held its own bathtub, imbedded in marble.

„Which dress would Your Grace prefer?“ The girl asked loud enough for her voice to reach Lyanna, before she heard a splashing of water.

„Uhm, the white and grey one would be good, thank you.“ Lyanna knew she would likely die of heat in her favorite dress, but it had been her favorite for a reason. Thinking to her brothers sparked a memory of something Rhaegar told her – that there existed a godswood within the perimeter of the Red Keep. She would be damned if she would go before the Old Gods in Southron silk. It made her sad for an instant, thinking she soon wouldn't be able to fit in her only Northern gown. She would need some new dresses tailored to accommodate her growing middle as the pregnancy progressed.

* * *

 

„Ser Oswell.“ The young lion nodded to the other man in matching armor, a casual smile on his face as he swayed elaborately through the hallway.

„Ser Jaime.“ The other knight flatly returns the greeting,. His dark eyes spied the other man's white armor that suggested he was there in full serving capacity. „I would assume you resting, weren't you on duty till dawn?“

„I was, Ser Oswell.“ Jaime confirms with a bored sigh, occupying a standing position next to the other man. He glanced for a second to the white doors that were behind both of their backs „Do not let my youth fool you, I perform all duties assigned to me with dedication. I am here to guard the queen's chambers, on the king's orders.“

 „Her Grace, the queen consort?“ The other knight frowned. „You must be mistaken, that has been my own duty for the past while, guarding the queen during the light of day.“

„And I am sure our queen will miss you.“ Jaime returns, his blonde brows raised in arrogance. „I am not any more mistaken than I am deaf. The king himself has assigned me this duty and I doubt we ought to bother His Grace again with such a trivial thing.“

„Guarding the queen is not a trivial thing, I promise you, Ser Jaime.“ Ser Oswell replies in warning, his jaw protruding as he studied the younger knight. 

A small smirk could be noted on Jaime's face as he watched to the other man. „I never said that it was. Which member of the Kingsguard is assigned to the duty, however, is. I assure you I can use this sword every bit as well as you can.“ He said, glancing suggestively to the steel hanging from his hip.

„I do not doubt your skill, I doubt your loyalties, Ser Jaime.“ Oswell answers plainly, not giving the other man a chance to respond. Watching him retreat, Jaime rolled his eyes as he considered the implication. The king certainly didn't, doubt his loyalties. And neither did Cersei. One of them had to be wrong to put his trust in him, Jaime just hadn't yet figured out who.

He hadn't found himself pondering the topic for long; a knock from the inside of the white doors requested his attention almost immediately. Pulling on the doorknob, Jaime inclined his head belatedly after his eyes fell to Lyanna. „My queen.“

„Ser Jaime.“ She returned breathily, taken aback. Her bright, wolfish eyes studied his face for an instant before she cast a glance down the hallways. „That was Ser Oswell, was it not?“

„It was.“ Jaime returns in confirmation, trying not to smirk. It seemed the kinship Oswell held for the queen had been mutual. _The knight and his wolf-queen._ „ He is off duty for today. I hope my services will be to your liking.“

Lyanna, she gives a small, confused nod before she takes lead in the hallway. Not three steps later, she stops in her tracks when she hears a familliar clack of armor behind her. At least, Oswell used to ask if he could go with her, and would give her her freedom when she requested it.

„Ser Jaime, you do not have to follow me.“ She assured in a husky voice as she turned to look upon him, hoping he would agree. She found herself sighing, recoiling when his expression suggested he took it as an insult. „Ser Jaime, what I mean is, I can look out for myself. Not even Ser Oswell follows me all the time...I am just going to the Godswood, not beyond the Wall.“

Jaime, he gives a small smirk at this, green eyes rising to rest upon hers with little shame. „Beyond the Wall or not, my queen, it is my duty. If you have complaints, you will have to direct them to the king. I for myself can promise, I will be of little disturbance.“

Lyanna gives a small sigh before she directs a surprisingly informal question to him. „Do you like riding, Ser Jaime?“

„I suppose?“ Jaime returns confused, baffled by the question. Who cares if he liked it? If she rode, he would have to ride with her regardless if he hated it or not.

 „Then I suppose keeping to each other's company won't be too torturous for either of us.“ She returns with a coy smile on her red lips and Jaime finds himself wondering once again. What a strange creature indeed, it seemed being a queen did exactly nothing to rein in her childish spirits. He only hoped she wouldn't put him through the trouble of finding her in mismatched armor _again_. Cersei would have gone mad if she were to witness this behavior.

 „My queen, I am hardly your company.“ He corrects her, not seeing a reason to speak less freely than her. „I am your knight, and you are a queen. I am merely your shadow. You do not need my permission or approval for anything.“

„Who says I am asking for it?“ She asks, as quick as a whip. „I am going riding anyway, I am simply deciding if I should leave you behind or not.“

„And what has Your Grace decided?“ Jaime returns daringly sly, inclining his head as he watched her bite her lip. She bats her eyelids before she answers. If Jaime hadn't known better, he would think she was flirting with him.

 „You will do. Come now, first we shall go to the Godswood, and then to the stables.“ She informs him casually, then she turns, picking up her pace in the hallway once again. Her step was strangely light considering the sturdy boots that showed under the edges of her dress. Looking to her back, Jaime waits a second before he faithfully follows. If that temper translated well in bed, there was no wonder Rhaegar was always walking around with a smile on his face. He supposed he would find out, guarding her sleeping chambers and all. Being in the Kingsguard came with its fair share of excessive information, information that Cersei would surely like to know.

* * *

 

„Ser Jaime, just because you have to walk behind me doesn't mean you have to ride behind me.“ Lyanna calls out to him, her head turning with a smile as she holds onto the reins of her mare.

Giving a small roll of his eyes that he counted wouldn't be seen, Jaime kicked his own beast into fastened pace, only pulling onto his own reins when he was in line with her.

 „Of course not.“ He returned, smirking. This woman was driving him crazy. First he had to stand by in the Godswood (which he usually avoided, because it gave him the creeps) for half an hour, watching her talk to a tree, then he had to wait till she personally got her horse out of the stables speaking to it as well, as if the beast understood a word. It seemed he would not be spared similar treatment.

„Tell me, Ser Jaime, do you enjoy being in the Kingsguard?“ She asks then. She asked the oddest and hardest questions, that one. Jaime was used to answering fact, not opinion, and it seemed she strangely cared for his opinion out of all things.

„It has its ups and downs.“ He answers, as vaguely as he could.

„How is that?“ She asks, watching to him briefly before she turned her gaze forward once more.

„It is an honor, but 'tis a boring honor at times.“ Jaime finds himself confessing. That woman surely understood boredom, she seemed like she felt it whenever she stood in the same place for more than a few seconds.

She gives a soft, thoughtful sigh. „I guess you have to take the bad with the good, like with anything. I myself always wanted to be a knight. Rhaegar allowed me to train for it, even. But I can't wield any swords right now, 'tis too dangerous for the babe.“

 The casual mention causes Jaime's head to jerk back and his gaze fall to her flat midriff. _She was with child..._ It was a small wonder though, Rhaegar hadn't been in his own chambers ever since she arrived. Just when he thought Cersei could not possibly get any more angrier. If it was a boy, Jaime thought his twin would dissolve in acid she herself produced.   

„Perhaps you shouldn't ride in that case.“ He returns with feigned concern, green eyes looking to her. „What if you fall down?“

She playfully rolls her eyes at the suggestion. „Ser Jaime, if you knew my father, he would tell you I could ride before I could walk. There is no safer place for me than on a horse.“

What did he care, it would be her loss. Gazing forward with that thought, Jaime thought he'd seen a glimpse of the oddest sight to match his previous thoughts, his own sister on a horse. _Gods be good, what was she doing here?_ Did he not tell her to stay away, that he would take care of it?

„My queen, do you not think we ought to return? It has been a couple of hours already.“ He suggests to the woman riding beside him, none so subtly. He'd been determined to avoid _that_ confrontation. Lyanna, she gives a small grin before she answers.

„You are free to go whenever you like, Ser Jaime. For my own part, I am enjoying myself. Do you know how long had it been since I rode a horse? I would stay until sundown if I could.“

Gods, he hoped not.

„Ser Jaime, isn't that your sister?“ She wonders aloud then, her eyes slitted into the distance. „You weren't trying to avoid her, were you?“ She asks of him with inquisitive pup eyes, as if it would be a genuine shame if he did. Jaime thought he would rather talk about his hopes and dreams again.

„No, not at all.“ He mumbles unconvincingly. „'Tis merely a coincidence.“

„My queen.“ Cersei croons, sickly sweet once she's inside decent earshot. Jaime was utterly taken aback by her tone, was her new strategy being nice? He wasn't sure for how long she could hold out without insulting „her queen“.

„Lady Cersei.“ Lyanna breathes, none too pleased by the looks of it. Jaime watched confused from one woman to the other, wondering what he'd missed.

„My queen, what a coincidence for us to meet so far out here.“ Cersei sings. „I might as well take this opportunity and invite you to lunch in my chambers this afternoon. Of course, if you would be so kind to grant me your presence.“

„And yet I wonder is it my presence you wish for, or my husband's. Was your tongue slipping inside his mouth a coincidence as well?“ Lyanna returns, causing Jaime's jaw to drop. _She did what?_ Cersei thought she would eat this girl for breakfast, and yet her opponent's wits and tongue were sharper than either of them could suspect. She might have seemed naive and childish, but she had it all figured out, perhaps even better than him. She was truly insane, Cersei, if what the other woman said was true.

Cersei feigns an insulted gasp before her hand flies to her chest. „I have never- You insult me, Your Grace.“

„You insult my intelligence if you think I shall believe you over my husband.“ Lyanna returns with a rise of her brows, causing Cersei's mouth to gape open. Jaime's gaze simply flew from one to the other as if he watched a sparing match, finding himself utterly amused by this battle of wits that Cersei was so clearly losing. Jaime did not truly know why, but he enjoyed it. He only had to make sure the evidence of it would not show on his face.  

„There is no need for pretend.“ Lyanna breathes then, her gaze still trained on Cersei's. „I know you care not for me, and I expect you to behave as such. Stay out of my way, and I will stay out of yours.“

„Ser Jaime.“ She invites then, before she kicks her horse in the opposite direction. Had he not had a duty, Jaime thought he would be obliged to stay and pick up his sister's pieces, for he was not sure if she would withstand the indignation as a whole.


	50. A Day in Court

Siting behind the dark oak table in her antechambers, Lyanna angled the end of her quill against her mouth. When a satisfying phrase comes to mind, she moves to press her thoughts into the paper before her, but a soft, fussing noise distracts her. Turning her head, Lyanna couldn't help but smile at her little niece in the crib nearby, giggling as she playfully threw her limbs into the air.

„Thank you for watching her.“ Ashara says softly, her hand on the babe's chest, soothing her. „I should likely return her to my chambers, she can be quite distracting.“

„No, please stay.“ Lyanna finds herself protesting. When Ashara's head snaps up with surprise at her insistence, Lyanna lowers her head before she amends in a softer voice. „What I mean is, I do not mind one bit. She is not distracting at all, and I love having her there, both of you.“ Lyanna felt a soft blush warming her cheeks, not truly comfortable with admitting how lonely she would be otherwise.

Ashara gives an understanding nod before her gaze is drawn to the paper before Lyanna. „May I ask what Your Grace is writing, then? Is it maybe a love letter for our king?“

Lyanna rolled her eyes, but it didn't help the grin that sprung to her face all by itself at the suggestion. „No.“ She assures heartily. For the sake of her dignity, Lyanna would save all amorous thoughts that sprung to her mind for herself, or, if she absolutely had to, she would share them with Rhaegar in person. The thought of him reading her amateur poetry made her want to bury her head in the snow with shame. Once she is sure no nervous laughter would reveal her discomfort, Lyanna clears her throat and answers as level as she could. „'Tis a letter for my father and brothers. I haven't heard from them in too long, it feels.“ The attempted seriousness turns genuine with the thought.

„Your Grace.“ Ashara's voice snaps her from her memories and back to reality. „I thought about what we talked about, of Brandon. I do think he should know. I do not want to be a burden to him and I do not need anything from him, but I think he should know he has a daughter.“

„Why the change of heart?“ Lyanna asks softly, watching to the other woman with regard. She'd tried to suggest such a thing earlier, as gently as she could but it seemed the lady was vehement in not letting anyone, particularly Brandon, know of her daughter's parentage.

Ashara sighs as her hands twirl in her lap. „I am not certain myself. I just, I want my daughter to have a father, whether or not he would give her any attention. 'Tis not about me anymore, I have her to think about as well. I am afraid she would hate me if she knew some day I kept this a secret from him.“ She says this with a sadness, gaze cast toward the lovely little bundle in the crib before her feet. Lyanna's eyes follow as well, before her lips stretch into a smile as she regarded the sweet babe.

„For what it is worth, I believe you are doing the right thing.“ She assured, eyes kind as her hand moved to clasp over the other woman's.

Ashara smiled somberly .„I shall write him a letter, then. Perhaps I could send it along with your own?“

„Of course, only let me know when 'tis done, so I don't send it earlier.“ Then, Lyanna gave a soft sigh as her hands folded in her lap. “Gods, I do miss Winterfell.“ Indeed, she did. Not even the Winterfell as she last left it, of a somber father, drunk Brandon, a missing Ned and a Benjen saddened by her own impending departure, she missed the Winterfell of her childhood. She missed the plains and the summer snows, she missed the furs, the familiar crackling of fire and smell of cold air, Gods she missed it all.

„Why don't you ask Rhaegar to take you?“ Ashara suggests then, a thought which was not novel to the she-wolf.

„He is busy.“ Lyanna answers forlornly. „I would go by myself, but I do so wish he would go with me. I would like him to know it, to see the North. He says he'd never been. I think 'tis a pity for him to miss how lovely it is there.“

„I am sure he would love it, if you were to take him.“ Ashara smiles. „You two are really good together. It shows. Truthfully, I don't think I have ever seen him so happy. He is very fortunate, to have you.“

„I am afraid the good fortune is mine.“ Lyanna returns with a whiff of soft laughter. „Sometimes I look at him and I wonder how did we ever happen. He has silver hair, oh Gods.“ She shakes her head with the thought. 

Now it was Ashara's turn to laugh. „He does. But trust me, he is the lucky one. I just hope he knows to appreciate it.“

„Can I ask you something?“ Lyanna asks then, her voice softer, thoughtful. Her grey gaze strays to the side before it timidly locks with the other woman's.

„Of course.“ Ashara immediately returns.

„How did...I mean how was he when he was married to Elia?“ Ashara had already once touched on that subject and Lyanna hardly concerned herself with it; the past should be the past, she supposed. Yet, something she had heard spoken this morning drew the subject back to the front of her mind. 

„How do you mean?“

„I mean, I heard something, that she could not have anymore children and that it was why he left when he did?“ Despite the discomfort the subject bore, Lyanna felt something within her would not rest unless she inquired. 

She was told she couldn't bear anymore children after Aegon, such is true.“ Ashara confirms cautiously. „But I do not know that was why he left her. Rhaegar is a mysterious man, the kind that keeps his thoughts to himself. I do not presume to know his reasons. Other people like to gossip, you might have to get used to it. The insane tales I heard in this court, I could not even begin to tell you. Trust me, no one knows him any better than you do. Except maybe his mother, or Arthur.“ Ashara softly chuckles at the thought before she grabs the embroidery work that held its place beside her, needle making quick moves about the fabric.

Lyanna gives a small nod as she keeps her hands wringing in her lap. „You're right. I am just being silly. 'Tis boredom, I guess.“ A soft, forlorn sigh makes it past her lips.„The less I do, the more I think, and the more I think, the more insane things come to my mind.“

„Well, you do not seem bored to me, Your Grace.“ Ashara is quick to reply as she pulls on a stitch. „You are rarely there when I search for you, you often go riding with Ser Jaime I am told. He must be very pleasant company then, more than any court ladies.“

Lyanna softly exhales with thought before she bites on her lip. „I was never good at befriending other ladies. 'Tis likely a force of habit, growing up with so many brothers.“ She gives a dreamy smile at that thought. „You are the closest thing to a lady friend I ever had. Ser Jaime is pleasant enough, and if I have to suffer with a guard, I am satisfied it be he.“

„He does seem decent enough, for a Lannister. To tell you the truth, even I would rather be in his company than his sister's.“ Ashara sighs before she starts cautiously, watching to the other woman's reaction. „Lady Cersei is every bit as unpleasant as she is fair if you ask me, and she is always around every corner. I don't know if you've had the pleasure of...“

„Pleasure?“ Lyanna lets out a bark of a laugh. „More like a misfortune.“ Lyanna was not sure what it was, but the mere thought of that woman near Rhaegar made her wolf blood boil. She never fancied herself a jealous creature, but it seemed an opportunity was all she lacked. His assurances helped some at the time, but the sight of that woman still made her less than apt at holding her tongue, as proven by their last encounter. The gall she had, to kiss him.

„I see you are familiar with her.“ Ashara says with a soft sigh. „A very venomous creature, that woman. Quite apt at pretending to be otherwise as well, until one gets to know her closer.“

Just when Lyanna took a breath to respond, a movement at the doors snapped both of their attentions forward. Mary made her way forward in with small, quiet steps before she curtsied.

„Your Grace, the Queen Dowager is asking for your presence.“

Lyanna gave a small nod to the girl who soon departed.

„What do you think she wants from you?“ Asks Ashara with a frown. „You know, you do not have to go at her every whim. You are queen now, Rhaegar's wife, this is your castle. She is merely a guest.“

„It seems to me I am more of a guest than she is.“ Lyanna says with a shake of her curly head. „She is the one who runs this place, if she weren't here, everything would likely fall apart. Anyway, she never calls for me, 'tis the first time. I should go, perhaps 'tis important.“

* * *

 

„Ser Jaime, wait for me here if it please you.“ Lyanna softly demands as she hears her own name and arrival being announced into the chambers before her. The doors softly open in the next moment, and lifting her red skirts up, Lyanna makes her way forward. Not a breath later, she feels a ball of irritation stuck in her throat.

„Lady Cersei.“ She breathes gravely, not even trying to feign pleasure at the lady's presence. What did that horrible woman want now? If the queen has invited them both to share a meal, Lyanna thinks she would excuse herself without an ounce of propriety. It would be better than being tempted into a physical confrontation which is something she already feels herself capable of.

„My queen.“ Cersei sings politely, giving a deep curtsey. Lyanna thought the smirk on her face was one of the least genuine things she had lately seen.

„Lyanna.“ The queen mother's voice is noticeably softer and warmer than Cersei's sharp tone, and yet Lyanna hears reprimand in it. Turning toward the sound, Lyanna forces her legs into a curtsey as she greets the older woman. „Goodmother.“

Looking first at Cersei, and then at Lyanna, Rhaella gracefully folds her hands before her as a trained smile lingers on her face. „Perhaps we should all sit.“

„I would rather stand.“ Lyanna blurted out, even if she felt an immediate need to recoil under the queen's gaze. She would not have it, she would not sit there and pretend she was friends with that woman. Lyanna wanted know to why she was summoned here, and more than anything, she wished to take her leave as soon as it was possible.

„Very well.“ The queen returns curtly, her indigo eyes hardened as she glances at Lyanna. „Lady Cersei here came to tell me a misunderstanding happened between the two of you and that there is some ill will left. Is that true?“

„There was no misunderstanding.“ Lyanna returns flatly, her dark grey eyes on the queen's before she breathes in declaration. „That woman kissed my husband and I responded appropriately.“

„Your Grace, that is not true, 'tis an insincere smear of my name. I swear to  you by the Old Gods and the New.“ Cersei's thin voice calls out, making Lyanna close her eyes and clench her fist. A lying, scheming...

„Lyanna, do you have any proof for your claim?“ Rhaella now turns to her, her hands on her hips. Proof? What sort of proof did she want, did Rhaegar not tell her himself....„For proof, you may ask your son.“ Lyanna returns, attempting calm but as a result only her voice falters.

„Your Grace, 'tis a lie. If you brought our honorable king here, I am certain...“

„You are a liar!“ Lyanna finally growls through bared teeth, even if she gave all her efforts toward restraining herself. Her fist clenched, her chest rose and fell with force of a fastened breath, and the blood boiled within. Her honorable king, who was she fooling? „And you're bluffing. He told me himself, go ahead, invite him, ask him. No one would be happier than I.“

„Enough.“ Rhaella barks in a manner incompatible with the usual visage accompanying her. It snaps both women's heads to her in surprise. „We shall not bother my son, the king with such a trivial matter. You two will reconcile, now, and I do not want to hear of this again. I also do not wish to hear of anymore arguments between you. You will behave like a lady and a queen, such petty arguments have no place in court.“

It seemed both younger women deflated at that. Lyanna still felt that rage, that kindling of fire but this time she manages to somehow keep it locked within her. If it was the wolf's blood, the babe or simply a disdain for pretend - Lyanna did not know, but she thought she would pass out from the sheer efforts of controlling her emotions. If she had it her way, Lady Cersei's hair would not be collected into that tidy Southron hairstyle right now. Her voice, her posture, her behavior, all of it irritated Lyanna out of bounds. She knew what she wanted to do, what she was trying to do. She was intent on stealing her husband, all along pretending it is not so. Lyanna would prefer a hundred times over for her to tell it straight to her face, rather than enact this ridiculous, insincere performance.

„You shall apologize.“ The queen's steady voice drifts over to her then and Lyanna's eyes widen. „I shall not! She is the one...“

„Be quiet.“ The queen then hisses, the severity of it taking Lyanna off guard enough to comply. „You shall do as I say. Do not make this any more unseemly than it already is.“ There was something about the queen, about her voice and about the worn out but harsh expression in her usually kind eyes that made Lyanna acutely aware of her own youth, of her impulsivity, just how out of her depth she was. It was a scorn directed at her from the older woman, and one that somehow made her wish to weep all of the sudden.

Not even in control of her actions, Lyanna gives a meek nod before she turns to Cersei. „I apologize, my lady.“ she said in a barely level voice that was a little more than a whisper, then she turned to knock on the doors, not even waiting for anyone's reaction. She did not wish to give that woman the satisfaction of not reining in her stupid emotions, of weeping before her like a chastised pup she very much felt herself to be. As her closed fist hovers over the doors to knock, a gentle hand on her arm stops her. The queen's gaze is pleasant on hers again, gentle as she softly speaks. „Please stay, I need to talk to you about something else.“

Then, she addresses the other woman. „Lady Cersei, I hope this matter is resolved now. If you would give us the room, please.“

„Of course, my queen. My queen.“ Cersei croons in a pleasant voice, lowering herself in a curtsey before she dashes toward the doors. Her shoulder grazes Lyanna's on her way out, and Lyanna feels an unpleasant chill from the touch. She cannot dwell upon it for soon she feels Rhaella's soft hand grasping hers and drawing her to the nearby sofa. The pleasant coldness of her palm cups her burning cheek and Lyanna closes her eyes for a second. The queen was being kind now, why was she kind when she didn't believe her?

„My darling, do not be upset.“ The queen kindly invites. „And do not resent me for making you do this.“

Lyanna's eyes opened at her words. „Doing what?“ Her brows furrowed with confusion. Just the previous minute the queen was hissing at her, chastising her. Lyanna wasn't sure she understood a thing.

„Apologizing to the lady.“ The queen's voice is so smooth now, like silk. Nothing comparable to how she was but a second ago. „I do not doubt she gave you reason to be unkind. But you must choose your battles wisely, my dear Lyanna.“

„You mean, you, you believe me?“ Her voice hitches despite her efforts to keep it level.

„It does not matter if I do.“ The queen answers, suddenly forlorn. „At court, the truth is often the thing that matters the least. What matters is appearances. No one will know what is in your heart and on your mind, all people see is behavior. And, my dear Lyanna, there are just some people with who you may not afford to quarrel with, no matter how distasteful you find them.“

„And Lady Cersei is one of those people.“ Lyanna sighs. Now, at least she comprehended the queen's position, even if she was not sure it would ever be one she could take to heart. Truth mattered, it surely did? It was how Lyanna lived all her life. She could not feign, her whole purpose in life had been running from pretending. She dreaded her destiny of pretending she was happy by Lord Robert's side, pretending she did not see the whores that came into his bed. Pretending she did not love Rhaegar, that he was not the man she wanted to call hers.

„I can assume this is hard for you.“ The queen sighs tiredly, almost reading her mind. „But such is the challenge of your position. You have a lot to lose, and Rhaegar has even more.“

„Rhaegar...what does this have to do with him?“ Lyanna asks with wide eyes, hand rising to touch to her sniffling nose. The mention of him, it made a sudden panic flare up within her.

The queen's lips tighten as she keeps Lyanna's hand between the two of her own. „Rhaegar...is not in an enviable position. Unsatisfied lords always mean an unhappy king. And sometimes a dead one.“


	51. An Unlikely Encounter

„Why have you summoned me here?“ Cersei asks this with an irritated sigh, her back turned to him. Her gaze presumably lingers over the open horisont spreading before her, bathed in sundown. Her hands are situated on the fence dividing the terrace from thin air, her weight leaned against them. Jaime lets his own hands clasp over hers as he leans into her, smelling the sweet perfume that lingers around her neck. _Sweet and only mine..._

„I thought we could use some time alone.“ He whispers into her ear, in part already bracing himself for a refusal. The other part is rational in its reassurances. _You are all she has. Rhaegar doesn't want her and now she knows it._

She doesn't pull away but it cannot be said she is waiting with bated breath for him either. Just as well, he doesn't care. Things would return to normal sooner or later, perhaps he even had the means of assuring the former.

„I have something to tell you.“ He whispers against the delicious skin of her neck and it makes her shiver. He takes a moment to savor the satisfaction of such a victory before he continues sardonically. „Your favorite she-wolf is with child.“

„She is what?“ Her head jerks back violently, and her face is already flushed with utmost displeasure. But he was there, and he would soothe her into calm. His hands trace the path of her arms as he continues his faded whispers. „See? There is no hope, sister dear. You are best advised to let it go. Forget about him.“

„Never.“ She harshly pries herself out of his hold. „At the very least, not until I have done absolutely everything I could to earn his attentions.“ When she turns, Jaime sees unshed tears of anger burning in her green eyes. „That unruly wolf-bitch is not worthy of him, and it is only a matter of time before he sees it.“ She breathes harshly as she savagely assures this thing that is quite obviously a consolation more than it is true.

„There is nothing you can do.“ Jaime returns with a shake of his head, intent of making her let go of her unrequited fantasies. „Short of killing her, there is nothing you can do to make Rhaegar look any other way. He loves that wild, utterly exhausting woman, for whatever reason.“ Jaime lied, at least in his implications he did not see the appeal. The „wolf-bitch“ might have been frustrating to be around in many ways, namely for the fact she was of sharp mind and a sharper tongue that relayed all her thoughts without reservation, but there had been something intriguing about it as well. Something Jaime couldn't quite put a finger on, but he was willing to bet he wasn't the only man who felt it. Rhaegar certainly did, enough to turn against his father for a chance of crawling into her sheets.

„I do not want to kill her, at least not yet, I want her to suffer.“ Cersei's fist clenches, as do her teeth. „And you are wrong, there are many ways to assure a man turns away from any woman, no matter how enchanted he is with her. I wonder if he would be so enchanted if she were to not give him children.“

„You might as well wish for the sky to be green.“ Jaime is quick to retort. „Haven't you heard what I just said, she is with child. And even if you managed to make something happen so she is no longer, he will get another child on her in blink of an eye.“

Cersei scoffs at this and Jaime knows he hit a nerve and she a brick wall. She doesn't let her defeat linger for too long; like a soldier, she straightens her back and takes a deep breath before she announces. „In that case, until a better opportunity presents itself, I will just have to settle for petty revenge.“

* * *

 

 „Good morning, my love.“ Lyanna whispers this against Rhaegar's lips, reveling in the contact as she remained leaned against his chest, the feeling of it so warm and soft, bare skin to skin. Then, she rises her head to look upon him, her gaze letting him know just how pleased she was that she finally managed to awake on the morrow before he did. It seems he shares her satisfaction, for his mouth stretch into a sleepy smile, only for her. Usually it was him who slipped out of her bed before she was even conscious enough to realize it. She would wake up disappointed to find her sheets void only to remember like through a dream that he already bid his farewells. 

 „Good morning.“ He returns in a husky voice, hoarse with sleep before he stifles a small yawn. He allows his dark bottomless eyes to lazily scrape over her skin as his hand finds purchase on her cheek, stroking there in the most gentle of touches.

Lyanna gives him a smile as she leans in for a morning kiss, in heaven with the feeling of his soft lips beneath hers. She shows her own affection by letting her fingers trace his lips once their kiss is broken. She teases him like this until he playfully catches her finger with his teeth, making her grin in return.

„What are you doing today?“ He asks her softly as his hand rises to forge a gentle grip around her own, one that was still lingering around his face. As their arms fall together into the sheets between them, their fingers intertwine at his bidding. Lyanna allows herself a moment to think on the question, finding it largely dependant on his own commitments. She was aching to spend some time with him, outside of their bed that was, for it seemed that was their only sanctuary from the endless demands and commitments. Even that would be perfect, if only he would stay a little longer. That was something Lyanna found herself longing for often, and almost just as often, that wish would go unfulfilled.

She bites her lip, then answers, „I was thinking maybe we could go visit your daughter together. I would really like to meet her.“ Truly, Lyanna did, even if a part of her dreaded it. She did not wish to bring injury to the little girl, or her memory of her mother, thus she refrained from requesting this sooner.

Rising her head to meet his gaze then, in expectation of a response, Lyanna could note the regretful slit of Rhaegar's mouth. Knowing what this meant, she looked to him with a hint of sorrow in her eye, like she hoped the words from his lips would reassure otherwise.

„I am sorry, my love. I cannot possibly manage today. At the very least, not in the morning. I have a council meeting in about an hour, I suspect.“ Hearing this, Lyanna forces herself into giving a small nod. It is less than convincing judging by the caring touches his fingers trail over her forearm, and those sorrowful eyes of his, that watch to her with guilt.

„I am truly sorry.“ He whispers as he leans to give her a kiss on her head.

Lyanna, she did not wish to make him feel like he was hurting her, after all, it had not been his fault. The conversation she had with the queen still drifted so close to her consciousness. At the time, it made her feel like a delusional child when it came to her own naive considerations of his duty, of _their_ duty. Her own feelings of loneliness had to be reined in, even if she was not certain how well she'd fare in that task. Lyanna was never good at it, either hiding or controlling her emotions. A flaw, in her position.

„Do not be sorry.“ She urges breathily against his mouth, hurriedly in her attempt at levity. “I know you are fairly busy. I can find something to do by myself, promise.“ When these words leave her lips, he still looks to her inquisitively for a couple of seconds, like he wanted to make sure she meant it.

Lyanna herself happily scoots up closer to him, craving his warmth, the kind that only a dragon could provide. She lifts her head to meet his gaze once more as she continues. „Besides, how else would our faithful Lannister knight suffer today if not for the following of my own adventures?“ 

Rhaegar lets out a small, amused chuckle at this. „I take it you agree well with Ser Jaime?“ His hand rises once more, thumb leaving a burning trail down her cheek, before it lingers over her lips and down. Long, gentle fingers ghost over, tracing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone until his hand settles over her breast. Fingers splaying around the peak of it, he leans in to place a kiss on a nipple.

„Oh, very.“ Lyanna assures with a delighted grin. She bites on her lip, still feeling her flesh tingling with the effect of his touches. „Although, I wouldn't count on receiving the same response from him. One day, I expect him to slay me with his sword and take the black, just to be rid of me.“

„Is that so?“ Rhaegar whispered against the corner of her mouth, as his hand trailed downward. His eyes, still so dark and mysterious to her in the most thrilling way possible looked deeply into hers as his fingers played over her skin. _Just a little lower..._

His hand settled against one particular area of her body, and it wasn't the one that Lyanna had in mind. Then, he moves down, his lips lingering, placing kisses where his calloused palm had just lain, atop the flatness of her belly. He leans his head there, humming words in a breathy tone that is much reminiscent of his singing voice, words of which Lyanna could only make out fire and ice. Then, he rises abruptly, smiling before he leans in to give her a short kiss on her lips. It was a silent farewell, she realizes, even if Lyanna didn't want it to be. Before she knows it, he is in the washroom and she is in the bed atop the sheets, alone.

„Didn't you say the meeting is in an hour?“ She calls out to him, frowning even if he cannot see it. It was a protest more than a question, and Lyanna wished she were more soft-spoken as soon as the words tumbled from her lips. _You mustn't make unjust claims on his time_ , the queen's voice rings in her head. Both irritated and conflicted, Lyanna quickly pushes the thought aside.

„It is, my love, but I must prepare for it.“ He calls back, the clear words getting lost in the sound of water splashing that soon fills Lyanna's ears. She sighs as much as it is possible to sigh, she thinks, seeing her own shoulders deflate in the mirror across. She did not know if it was the babe, or her newly revealed bliss of marital life, but Lyanna was quick to become aflame (especially under Rhaegar's touches), and not so quick to cool down when her desires couldn't be pursued. Such thoughts were childish as much as they were womanly, she decided, for the king ought to please the realm first and his queen second, at least so she was told. A similar thing did not seem to hold for princes. For a brief moment, Lyanna found herself wishing the Mad King was still alive.

* * *

 

„My queen.“ The young, dark-haired stable boy bowed before her and Lyanna nodded her own greeting. Picking up her skirts, she reaches to circumvent him like she so often did, moving to reach the stables. This time however, she was stopped by the boy's silhouette slipping before her, cluttering her path.

 „Excuse me.“ She murmured once more, casting a glance to the boy who was standing in her way. He knew very well she liked to take Snow out by herself, and he made no large matter of it in the past. And yet the boy did not move, instead his hand moved to behind his back as he stammered „I beg your forgiveness, my queen, you cannot go in there right now.“

„Why?“ Lyanna immediately asked, feeling a ball of anxiety forming in her throat. The boy didn't seem to have a response beside inclining his head down. Scrutinizing his unmoving figure for a second or two, Lyanna turned back in confusion, glancing at Ser Jaime who was at her back. The knight responded with a shrug of his armored shoulders, disinterested.

Taking a deep breath, Lyanna tried again. „Why can't I go back in there, pray tell?“

The boy's voice was thin as he answered. „I beg your forgiveness, my queen, but Snow is not feeling very well. She appears to be sick, likely of something she ate.“

„Sick?“ Lyanna asked, already feeling a horrible weight in her chest. Nay, she couldn't lose her, not her too. She was the only creature here who was hers only, who was faithful to her and who was there whenever she sought her out. She was her only friend. „Is she going to be well?“ Lyanna brings herself to ask, even if she already somewhere deep down dreads the suspected answer.

„I am very sorry, my queen. It is unlikely. She is trembling with fever and very weak, we could not get her to rise to her height. We suspect it was some poisonous plant that she ingested.“

„And if such is the case, is there nothing you can do?“ Lyanna asks with force, before she swallows and tilts her head downward. She continues in a trembling voice, even if she wishes it was not so. „Gods be good, there must be something you can do. Where did she find a poisonous plant anyway? Aren't you careful with what you feed her?“ Perhaps it was her own fault, taking her out in unknown plains. And yet, Lyanna just knew nothing close to a suspicious incident occurred while they were out.

„We can do nothing to relieve her pain. If she is kept alive, she will only suffer unnecessarily. I am sorry, your grace, I know how fond of her you are.“

At these words, tears began their burning in the corners of her eyes. Intent on not shedding them just yet, Lyanna rises her head again, and forces herself to swallow the anguish building up within her. „If it is indeed so, then I wish to see her.“

„My queen, perhaps it would be best...“

„Let her see the horse.“ Ser Jaime cuts in, the wind of his movement forward well noted against Lyanna's back. She looked at the knight beside her in surprise, reveling at Ser Jaime taking a stand when it came to anything. In their earlier interactions, he seemed to be rather indifferent about all that happened around him, more than most men. It was a skill Lyanna admired at times. Right now, she was grateful for the knight's stand in her favor, for she was not sure she could find it in herself to insist further without dissolving into angry tears.

„If Her Grace wishes so.“ The boy relents, finally moving out of the way. Lyanna dashes in her desired direction immediately, with quick, determined steps which Jaime grudgingly follows. So, that was what Cersei meant. He supposed a horse was a smaller sacrifice than a child, and yet, the glistening in the she-wolf's red-rimmed eyes he noted just before did not seem to indicate so.

As soon as she breaches the doors to the stable where sight reveals a feverish, exhausted mare lying in the hay, Lyanna crouches down, with no regard for the red silks of her skirts sinking into utmost dirt around her. Nay, she cares not for her silks, it is only the poor animal before her that holds her interest. She then outright sits in the hay behind her, letting her pale hand trace over the animal's muzzle in a gentle touch. The mare gives a sad neigh and her eyes fill with tears all over again.

„Shh, my dearest. I know it hurts, I know.“ She says this in a small whisper, her other hand rising to messily wipe at her wet cheeks and sniffling nose. Jaime watched on at the sight of her continuing to pet her and speak to the animal, telling it the most tender things a heart could come up with for another human being, let alone a horse. This goes on for another twenty minutes or so, and the more Jaime watches, the more he finds himself understanding it on some bizarre level. The queen found worth and joy in the simplest things, and it only made sense her heart would crush with grief when she lost them as well, not matter how unimportant to others they may be. It is not until the elder keeper of stables arrives, insisting it is best for the animal to finally be put out of its misery, that Lyanna even thinks about moving.

She is most conflicted at this, Jaime can see, and with a heavy heart she gives a nod before she moves abruptly, forcefully tearing herself from the sight like she knows no other way. She stands outside the stables for only an instant, her back turned to him, shaking as she catches her breath rattled with sobs.Then, quickly, her legs move her back toward the castle. Sparing another regretful look inside toward the suffering, sweaty animal, Jaime follows after the woman in which his duty lay.

Catching up to her own speed, yet keeping a decent distance behind her, Jaime did not need to see her face to know tears streamed down her cheeks and that she most likely only wanted to her chambers and bury her face into her pillows. Not expecting any type of acknowledgement of her, he decided to silently follow her through the hallways that promised her chamber was not far ahead.

Walking, Jaime took in the odd looks directed at them from the guards scarcely dispersed through the lengthy halls, guarding chambers and people. Lyanna does not seem to react or even notice. It is not until they reached a fully void hallway that she stops in her tracks, and sucking in a breath in silence, turns to him.  

„It was your sister, wasn't it?“ She asks this of him, turned so that he can see her face perfectly. Yet, her own misty gaze is averted from him, grey eyes staring somewhere to the side, fixed into the silent stony walls that surrounded them.

A denial is at the tip of his tongue, and yet somehow, it doesn't tumble from his lips. „Does it make a difference?“ He asks, instead.

„No.“ She whispers breathily before she picks up her pace again, veering to the right and supposedly toward her own chambers. Then, she comes to a halt when she sees a crowd before her own doors – a flock of court ladies that is not a pleasant surprise in the slightest, judging by the sigh she lets out. Briskly turning back before she can be spotted, Lyanna catches his elbow, pulling him with her behind the stony corner they just now surpassed. She makes a quick move over her face to be rid of any remaining mist before she sniffles. „Thank you, Ser Jaime.“ She tells him, looking to him with more kindness than he deserves. What did she thank him for?

Like she reads his mind, she takes a breath and answers. „For not lying to me. But I have another favor to ask of you. After I go behind those doors –„Her gaze moves to the side, pointing at the rusty, old cellar door that never captured Jaime's attention enough to wonder what was behind. He always assumed it was a way toward some old dungeon rooms that were out of use. Nothing interesting definitely. „Do not go after me. I want some time to be alone.“

His head nods all by itself at the request.

With that, she dashes past him, pushing the heavy iron doors (which were surprisingly unlocked), before she disappears on the other side. Frowning, Jaime considered how ridiculous this whole thing was, even by her standards, but somehow he doesn't feel compelled to follow her. Instead, he takes a breath as he turns his back to the rusty doors, deciding to wait for her to come back to him instead. Hopefully, she wouldn't take too long.

* * *

 

Hands touching to the rough surface of dark, stony walls beside her, Lyanna reaches to take hold of a nearby torch fixed into a wall imbedding, but then she changes her mind. Taking a small breath, she makes her way forward, as she had already done a few times in this place. She discovered it purely by accident, in a moment of curiosity as she explored the more conspicuous parts of the castle. Right now, she sought it out for darkness and solitude that the sorrow within her craved.

In the past, Lyanna never thought of herself as a lone wolf, at least not one that was alone by choice. It was her stay in King's Landing that showed her solitude was preferable to unpleasant company, and sometimes the only comfort one can find. She mused on this briefly as she lowered her weight on one of the stony steps nearby, only enlightened by a distant shine of a torch she left behind. Suddenly feeling tired and numb, Lyanna craned her head in her hands, leaning her elbows against her knees in support. She didn't know how long she just stayed there in that manner; she had no thoughts to measure time by, only the sound of her breaths and the burning in her throat that was slowly dwindling down. She must have dozed of for an instant for she did not hear anyone's approach, and yet she felt herself startled with a foreign but soft touch against the crown of her head. Eyes snapping up quickly, in the fading orange glow of fire, she could make out a round child face smiling at her. A little girl.

„Hello.“ the girl simply greeted and Lyanna could not help but smile at the sweetness of her approach. She had a thin, childlike voice to match the innocent expression on her face, and her large, dark eyes shining like onyx seemed somehow familiar. It suddenly dawned on her just who the girl might be.

„Hello, darling.“ Lyanna returned in a husky voice, watching kindly to the girl.

„You are crying. Are you sad?“ The girl asks then with a frown, provoking a somber smile from Lyanna.

„I am a bit sad.“ Lyanna admits, before she gives a small sniffle. „But that is alright, everyone is sometimes sad.“

„When I am sad, Balerion makes me happy.“ The child says cutely, before she turns her small head around, a dark, shiny ponytail curling on its end. „Balerion!“ She calls into the darkness.

„Balerion, the dragon?“ Lyanna finally asks, recalling just where she'd last heard the name - as part of her history lessons which she did not quite adore anyway. She was willing to entertain the child's imagination, after all, she remembered pretending she had an invisible direwolf.

„No, silly.“ the girl gives her a happy giggle. Lyanna grins, delighted with the child's informality. „My Balerion is a kitten.“


	52. Where Did You Sleep Last Night

 

_Four months later._

 

Lounging back in her sheets, pale, naked legs straight with her feet _almost_ touching the headboard, Lyanna bit her lip, her hand resting over the now visible bump on her belly. Mesmerized, she watched to the bare, chiseled surface of Rhaegar's back. 

He'd been so lean, she thought, observing the way his shoulder blades moved along with only a few pale red scars marring them. His long, silver tresses were drawn straight over his shoulders, their inhuman color glistening under the shine of moonlight. It made for quite a sight.

Observing his neutral, yet distracted expression in silence, much like the one he bore for most of past days, Lyanna found herself eager to have him next to her as soon as possible, to have his presence in body if not in mind. Thus, she allowed her pale hand trace the path of the bare skin over his spine, hoping to receive his attention.  

Once he climbed into bed, Rhaegar pulled her to him silently, like he always did. With his face in line with her own, Lyanna could see in his bottomless eyes just how tired he was. „I missed you for supper.“ She tells him in her husky voice, hands trailing softly over strong arms that held him propped up above her.

Indeed, he had promised they would sup together and Lyanna waited, and then when waiting got old and her stomach became too empty to ignore, she'd set on searching for him in his study. When such a thing proved unfruitful as well and as she was about to give up on her intention of seeking him out, Jon Connington dryly informed her the king had unavoidable commitments and that she was advised to dine alone. Again. 

„I am sorry, my love.“ He tells her, moving to the side so that he isn't over her, but rather his weight sinks into bed next to hers. His hand lazily moves to smooth back her dark curls from her forehead.

Lyanna turns to her side as well so that she may meet his gaze, leaning her head against a hand as she gives him her attention.

„ I received some upsetting news today that I had to deal with.“ He sighs as if it irks him to trouble her with specifics. Lyanna was not sure she would understand enough to offer anything of use, but she wanted to hear it from him regardless.

„Upsetting how? Is it something bad?“ She asks as she looks to him intently, eyes studying the guarded expression on his face.

He gives a weary sigh. „'Tis nothing to fret over, my love. Merely an exhausting affair to entertain.“

This does not seem to put her mind at ease in the slightest. Yet, Rhaegar does not see how the alternative could have any better effect. Telling her would have no purpose other than needlessly upsetting her. Instead, he tilts her chin upward so he may meet her eye, and kisses her, in attempt of distraction for the both of them.

He needed her to be herself, to laugh beneath his lips and pull him in, forgetting everything in the way he never seems capable of. He expected her to react the way she always does, yearned for that moment in which the fire catches on, she sets into motion and drags him with her for the ride, but somehow it doesn't happen. Where he is gentle, she is even more and even if her lips are returning the affection under his, they never part and not a single moan or breath escapes her.

When he pulls back to look at her, her mood is a match for her behavior; he sees it in her grey eyes as they watch to him solemnly. „Please, don't ever stop.“ She begs of him, fingers back atop his lips, running back and forth.

„Stop what?“ He is most confused at this turn of conversation. His hand rises to grasp hers, the one owning the pale fingers lingering over his face. Turning it, he places a kiss on her knuckles, and then the inside of her wrist, attempting comfort he is suddenly compelled to give.

„Loving me.“ She answers seriously. The words provoke a worried frown from him. Why would she think he would stop loving her?

„I don't know how I would bear it.“ She breathes forlornly, then averts her gaze as a sad smile lingers on her lips. Lyanna herself did not know what brought back this wave of insecurity in her. He gave her no true reason to suspect. And yet, it seemed everyone around her had a more cynical view of it than she. From her few scarce attempts at socializing, she found most ladies to treat her with insincere sweetness. They curtsied before her, made attempts at leading void conversation, inquired about her health with feigned care. To her face, they treated her much like she imagined a queen ought to be treated. And yet, as soon as she was out of earshot, but not truly, their true opinions drifted to her ears. _What goes around, comes around._  - she often heard whispered. Rhaegar will do the same thing to her that he did to Elia. A younger and fairer is bound to come along. Lyanna did not wish to give much importance to bitter tongues, and yet, she could not deny the severity of it unsettled.

„My dearest, how could you ever think that?“ Rhaegar asks of her so sweetly, snapping her attention back to him. He seems genuinely perplexed by the tears Lyanna just now felt had sprung to her eyes.

Then, he does something, something that should have been consoling but instead was hurtful, something that only makes the doubts within her rise.

Her eyes close with the burning touch of his hand on her swollen midriff as he whispers to her. „You are the most important thing to me in the world. You, Rhaenys, this child, and any other children you may give me.“ What if I couldn't give you children, she wants to ask. Would he still love her then? Lyanna did not have any reason to suspect she would have difficulty birthing children; after all, the babe within her took root so soon after them marrying and endured whichever trauma it was that she went through and would never remember. Still, she wanted, needed to know for certain he loved her beyond her ability to give him heirs. _Poor late princess Elia, had she not been barren..._ the court whispered.

Likely seeing she was not convinced, Rhaegar drew closer to her, dark eyes intently studying her own. „What is truly wrong, my love?“ He asks as his hand finds purchase on her cheek, stroking softly. „Why are you upset? Did someone say something to you?“ He asks this with severe concern, gaze hard and cold but she knows it is not her that he is displeased with.

Considering any further words, Lyanna takes a breath that is as pained as it sounds. „Not truly directed to me, but people talk.“ Her voice croaks, before she gives a small sniffle. „They compare and they feast on each and every misery they can perceive. The court is a cruel place, Rhaegar.“ She tells him, prompting him to offer a small nod. „They smile and curtsey before my face, and call me a whore behind my back. They say I trapped you, that I bewitched you into abandoning your wife and laying with me, and then my father forced you to marry me once I stayed with child. They say it worked only because Elia couldn't give you any more children, that you will tire of me the same way you tired of her.“

„You know those things aren't true.“ Rhaegar offers solemnly, not knowing how else to provide comfort. Quelling rumours had been something he feared was not even within a king's power. Rhaegar felt he could slay whoever spoke in such manner before him, but he knew no one was enough of a fool to do so.

Lyanna, she gives a nod, stormy eyes averted from him as her pretty brows furrow. „I know.“ She returns in a low, hurt voice, biting back tears. _I think I know._ a voice in the back of her mind whispers. „I do not want to care, I don't know why I care what they speak of. But it injures me, some of the things they say. I do not want them to, but they get into my head.“ She says this with utter sadness, lips quivering in a pout as her head remains inclined downward. Then, she sighs a forlorn sigh. „And your mother...“ She breathes with pained force but then she stops. Lyanna would not believe that the queen had been right in her scorns until she heard it from Rhaegar's lips. Thus, she fretted to share this with him, dreaded his reaction.

„My mother what?“ Rhaegar prompts in a low voice. His dark indigo eyes were so intense, serious as he looks to her. A part of her wants to tell him, to let it all out, relieve her soul and yet another part of her worries he might agree, side with his mother when it came to this matter.

„Lyanna, tell me.“ He demands firmly once more after the silence. Something about his voice reassured her that he would indeed listen to her with understanding, that he would offer comfort.

 „Nothing I ever do is good enough.“ Lyanna finally allows herself to breathe out. „She keeps telling me, reminding me that I am queen and that everyone watches to me, commenting and criticizing every move that I make. I cannot bear it, Rhaegar, all the scorn. I listen and I try, I truly do.“ When she looks up, she sees Rhaegar's eyes look to her softly as he listens, sincerely intent on what she has to say. „Lyanna, you ought not to wear Stark colors, you are a mother-to-be to Targaryen children, Lyanna why can't you be polite and graceful like Cersei Lannister...and that damnable woman, she always sits with her and your mother does not hold her tongue when it comes to humiliating me in front of her.“

In truth, what she told him had only been the tip of the iceberg. There had been numerous other occasions in which Lyanna felt the queen was needlessly, perhaps even malevolently criticizing her. For instance, when the queen found out Lyanna was with child, she deemed it _improper_ for Rhaegar to keep visiting her chambers and suggested she take initiative on it, since men could not be expected to be wary of such stuff. It almost made Lyanna laugh; like Rhaegar was some inconsiderate, raging bull who ploughed her every night. While she generally tried her best to see sense in the queen's words, to take her advice as kindhearted and consider it (she was new to queenship, after all), that was the first time she openly defied her.

Lyanna could perhaps see some sense in wearing black and red now that she was married into the Targaryen dynasty instead of the grey colors of her own house, and, with no small amount of reluctance, she dressed accordingly when she was certain to see the queen. On other days, with relief she would don one of her older riding dresses that have been sent to her from Winterfell, thank the gods. Permanently giving up her sense of Northern identity and her heritage as a Stark, it was too much to ask of her. Purposefully putting distance between herself and Rhaegar had been another thing on which Lyanna would never budge. Hence, when the queen suggested what she did, in a moment of childish spite, Lyanna may have failed to stifle some of her screams that night in the Maidenvault, perhaps taking into account the fact the queen's chambers were close to her own. The subject was never brought up again, at the very least.

„My mother cannot speak to you like that.“ Rhaegar assures gravely, as his dark eyes watch with a sort of guarded anger that chilled her even if it wasn't her that he was upset with. His reaction, even if severe, it makes Lyanna feel relieved. She did not think she could bare her soul to him, only to receive more reprimand.

„How long had this been going on?“ He asks with a frown, his voice taking on an icily tone Lyanna recognizes. He never yelled, nay, but that tone meant indignation.

She lets herself glance at him, then averts her eyes as she breathes. „Almost since I got here.“

 He blinks with unpleasant surprise.„Moons? Gods Lyanna, why didn't you tell me sooner?“ He asks this with regret, exasperated.

„Because you're always busy.“ The words just tumbled from her lips. When she sees a trace of hurt in his eyes they have caused, Lyanna recoils. „Forgive me, 'tis just, I looked up to your mother the queen, hoped to learn from her a thing or two about managing this damnable court. She told me not to come to you, that I had to learn to deal with my problems on my own. I didn't want to upset you, or for you to be angry at your mother.“ _Or at me._ She silently admits to herself. Only now, does she see how foolish she had been. He was the only one she had in this foreign place, the only person she loved and trusted. And she let his mother get involved in their marriage for fear of talking to him directly.

„If I am angry at my mother, 'tis for her own actions and nothing else.“ Rhaegar assures firmly. „And you...“ he stops to lift her chin, and look her in the eye. „...need to be honest with me. If there is a thing, anything or anyone that makes upset and unhappy, I wish to know of it. No thing is slight enough.“

She gives a slight nod, but Rhaegar sees mere words are of little consolation. Her grey eyes still glistened with unshed dew as she bit on her quivering lip, as if to stop the tears that threatened to spring forth. 

Affected by the sight, Rhaegar lets his hand rest in the softness of her dark locks as he drew closer to place a kiss to her forehead. She'd felt so cold, like the fire burning inside her had been snuffed by her grievances. His other hand trails up to slowly rub circles on her back, soft skin bared where her nightgown had fallen. „Please don't cry.“ He whispers hoarsely to the crown of her head. „It hurts me when I love you so. I will make it better, tell me what I can do to make it better.“ His words have an opposite effect of the intended; they provoke a stream of emotions, a flood of tears that Lyanna could not quell, and wasn't even sure she wanted to.

She buries her face into his chest, staining his dark tunic darker where the finally released tears fell. „Hush, my sweet, hush.“ He consoles her, patient and understanding as ever as he holds her form against him, protects her in his arms. It feels rare, precious, long desired. Lyanna, she did not want him to leave. He always spoke sweetly, words from his honeyed tongue tugging at her heart's strings as if each one was a poem in itself. He showed affection as well, he did, he never walked past her without kissing her or embracing her or whispering something loving in her ear. When he was there everything would be well but then he would leave, he always left. She gives a little hiccup at the thought.

„If you love me, you need to make more time for me. I miss you.“ Lyanna breathily whispers once she is composed enough to rise her head and meet his gaze.

As much as she felt injured by the cruel whispers, by the cold gazes and her goodmother's not so subtle suggestions that she ought to be obedient, subservient to him no matter what, Lyanna knew none of it would get to her, that she would keep her head up high and laugh at the ridiculousness of their suggestions had Rhaegar's behavior itself given her no cause for doubt. Were he there, were he present every night like he used to be in their tower or in that blissful fortnight just upon her arrival to the Red Keep, where he came to her chambers every night, played his harp for her, sang for her and whispered tales to their babe, Lyanna wouldn't have worried.

She wouldn't have time to worry, to think and drive herself crazy, because his presence would be an all-consuming thing like she knew it to be, flooding all her thoughts and senses. She wanted him to laugh with her, give her those small, amused chuckles he used to give her when he found himself charmed with her own silliness. Lyanna wanted him to speak with her, lay with her, love her insatiably, fiercely, the way he loved her in their tower. And yet, in the moons since her arrival till the babe growing inside her became a bump on her belly, his own visits have become so scarce.

He seems to recognize this as well, judging by the regretful expression upon his brow.

„I will, I promise.“ He assures seriously, as his hand moves to warmly cup the side of her face. His dark eyes meet her own as he looks to her, so loving and understanding. _He promises..._ „I know I have been absent, but it is only temporary. Once I solve these matters of transition and heal any damages my father had left behind himself, I will have more free time, my love.“  

Lyanna gives a slight nod, wanting so badly to believe in his words. At first, he saw her every other day, and Lyanna did not overly fret; surely, she could find things to do in his absence. She went riding as much as her state allowed, she spent time with her niece and Ashara, she even spent time with his mother until one day she realized she only felt worse for it every time.

Then, it became two to three times a week and sometimes even less. Perhaps the worse thing about it all was that even when he did come to her, most times his features would seem so worn out, limbs exhausted, eyelids closing so fast as he lay beside her, that she hadn't the heart to demand any additional attentions of him, whether in terms of conversation or making love.

He was busy and stressed with his obligations, that she knew even if he told her of it as little as possible. Yet, a stupid, insistent voice in her head chanted that if he truly loved her, he would find time without her prompting. If he truly desired her, it wouldn't be weariness he would feel every time he fell back into her bed. Lyanna could not help but feel that any kindness she lately received from him had been only as a mother of his child. She didn't want him to be kind, she wanted him to love her. The doubt itself hurt enough that Lyanna wanted to run away from it as far as possible.

Thus, when those dark indigo eyes gazed upon her, reassuring, before his lips softly pressed a kiss into her open mouth, she chose not to dwell on what it meant.

 


	53. About a Conflict

Rhaegar sat hunched over his desk, rubbing his temples in frustration. The news he got were just about of the worst kind that could have been expected.

„So, you are saying that Dorne won't accept her for their queen?“ He asked of the man who stood before him. Tired and yet frustrated, Rhaegar raked a hand through his long silver hair.

„Aye. If you want, you can read the letter yourself.“ Rhaegar just waved his hand, not wanting to see it on paper.

Jon summarized instead. „They wrote that it would be a huge insult to the memory of Elia if they did, considering that Lyanna was your mistress with whom you were with at the time of her death. They request that you marry someone else, anyone else.“

 With a shake of his head, Rhaegar replied softly. „She was never my mistress. I had already married her. She is my wife, Jon.“ He looked up, not finding sympathy where he did not expect any regardless. „And she is my life.“ He added quietly, mostly for himself. He knew what everyone thought, that he was a madman who was throwing his future away to indulge the fickly affairs of his heart. Yet somehow, he didn't care. What good was being alive if one did not feel alive? Rhaegar had long ago given up finding purpose in his royal duties, whether as a prince or a king. It was a duty, it was a burden he intended to respect, and yet there were things he would not, could not bring himself to sacrifice for it.

„But she is no queen. No crowning will change that unless the Great Houses accept her. Dorne doesn't recognize your marriage as valid. What good is a title if people refuse to acknowledge it?“

„I will make them acknowledge it.“ Rhaegar heard himself growl with sudden force. „We will not just roll over and follow their unreasonable demands.“ Too exhausted to maintain his anger, he sighed and continued in a gentler voice.“ I understand the grief for Elia, I've grieved her myself. And it is an unfortunate and tragic thing that happened, no one knows that better than I. But nothing can change the past. Who are they to tell me who I can take into my bed and who I cannot? It doesn't concern them, unless they wish to see me suffer. But their revenge is misplaced; no one could have predicted what happened, let alone Lyanna.“

„They are not telling you that.“ Jon replied, as brass as ever. „You can keep her as your mistress, no one is stopping you. They just don't want her to be queen.“

„She is the King's wife and she will be queen. This is not a discussion.“ Rhaegar repeated, his jaw firm. He rose from his seat in frustration, pacing up and down. Jon just observed him for a beat.

„They have no political reasons to protest this. This is purely revenge. Why do they care? Are they trying to rob me of my heirs, force me to look for a wife elsewhere? What good would that do to anyone?“

 Jon took a deep breath, his response straight-forward. „They want to see you suffer. I agree there is no other purpose, but you cannot afford to piss them off. Annul your marriage and half your grievances will end.“

A mirthless laugh bubbled on Rhaegar's lips. „Annul our marriage? On what grounds? Lack of consummation? She is six moons pregnant, for Gods' sake.“ Yet, it is not his mind that protests the idea like his words suggest, it is his heart. The way she looked to him, that glimpse of love for him in her grey eyes, he could not bear to see it replaced with hurt of betrayal. He'd rather they die together than live apart and he knew the same held for her.

„Like that matters.“ Jon responded with a snort. „ The Faith will aid your cause in favor of peace, no matter what it is. If 'tis a son, you can legitimize her child after it is born. Just take another wife, take Cersei Lannister and kill two birds with one stone. If there was ever a marriage that could have been set aside, it's your marriage to the Stark girl. It would be a joke for a High Septon...“

Rhaegar shook his head in annoyance, his face contorting into a grimace as he exploded with frustration. „Stop calling her the Stark girl, she has a name! I'm getting sick of people pretending they care about me, that care about advising me and yet can't give a small effort to extend her respect.“ The next moment found him sighing, and pained beyond description. Looking up at the other man, he continued in a lower tone. “ Do you see where my problem is, Jon? My own mother won't spare a kind word to her, the whole court treats her with contempt. I went to visit her and I found her crying the other day, her ladies-in-waiting drove her to tears. Anyone who is against her, is against me. And I'll make sure the whole world hears.“

Jon leans back on his heels, in apparent offense that his loyalty was questioned. „I apologize Your Grace, I meant no disrespect. Anyone who deserves your respect deserves mine too.“

„Then, for the love of the Gods, let us drop this subject. I love her, I want her to be beside me, I want her children to be mine. So find another way for Dorne to accept this. And do not bring this up again.“

Jon seemed unsatisfied with this response, but Rhaegar was far too exasperated to pay it any mind.

„Pardon me, Your Grace, but there are other things you need to consider. We still haven't heard from Lord Tywin. It has been moons since the invitation was extended to him. 'Tis not a good sign.“

„What are the chances that he is planning to rebel against me?“ Rhaegar asked in a voice without affect, as if he inquired of supper.

„It doesn't look good.“ Jon returns with a sigh. „Robert Baratheon is also too quiet. Quietly seething in anger, anything else is unlikely. Stories go around, how he loved Lady Lyanna so fiercely and would not forgive that she was taken away from him. People say he drowns his sorrow in wine and brothels, and whispers her name to whichever whore...“ Jon's tongue freezes mid-sentence when Rhaegar looks to him in a grave warning. He swallows before he carefully continues. „I apologize, Your Grace, I am merely relaying what I heard. Ignoring it will not make it go away.“

„Yet, that is exactly what I shall do.“ Rhaegar returns, forlorn. „If he wishes to rebel, he might as well do so. I will kill him myself if I have to. As long as Lyanna and our child is safe, I care not what happens to me. In any case, the realm will have an heir, either Rhaenys or Lyanna's child if it is a son.“ _It will be a son. It will be The Prince That Was Promised._ And if it would take his head for that child to live, so be it. „Jon, I need you to promise me that.“

The other man mildly frowns with inquiry. „Promise you what, Your Grace?“

„That you will protect her till your last breath. If any gathering of man power starts on either side, I will send her to Dragonstone. And in case there is a rebellion and it costs me my life, I need you to promise me you will keep them both away from Robert Baratheon. No matter what.“ He knew that in case of victory, the first thing Robert would do is search for his living male heirs and put them to a sword. His son, _their_ son would be put to a sword. And Lyanna, she would be kept alive and likely forced into bed of the man who killed her husband and child.The mere thought makes him close his eyes with grief. He would not have it, he would not allow such a thing to happen.

„You have my word, Your Grace.“ Jon returns solemnly.

„Good.“

* * *

_What time was it?_

Sitting on her bed, freshly bathed, hair brushed and black velvet dress donned (one that accommodated her growing belly), Lyanna crossed her legs, swinging them like a child over the edge of her tall bed. With a bite to her lip, she looked about her room with nervous anticipation. Today, she and Rhaegar were supposed to take a stroll through the royal gardens together, and then meet his mother for lunch. It had been arranged at his own prompting which Lyanna found heartwarming, taking it as a sign he indeed took her pleads into consideration.

Admittedly, the immense joy she initially felt when he told her somewhat lessened at the mention of his mother. Lyanna would prefer if it was simply time stolen for themselves, for he was the only one whose presence allowed her to act unguarded. He and the children, Rhaenys and Viserys on rare occasions she could be in their vicinity without the queen lingering close by. Lyanna desperately needed it, that freedom. Still, she supposed her relationship to his mother needed mending, and Rhaegar was doing more than he had to in order to aid her in that task. Lyanna did not wish to worry him - she harbored her frustrations and grievances for herself for so long, in fear of adding to his own load of responsibilities. She smiled when she wanted to scowl, she politely inclined her head when a protest was at the tip of her tongue, she pretended not to hear things that made her want to wring the neck of whoever spouted them. The surface was polished, but the blood boiled within. Lyanna could bear it no longer; something within her was threatening to snap lately and the understanding he offered was balm to her heart that she so desperately craved.

There is a commotion before her chambers that makes her hold her breath for an instant. The enthusiasm lessens and her shoulders deflate when she sees it is Mary who is the source of the distraction. Likely seeing her disappointment, the girl inclines her head downward as she approaches shyly. „Your Grace, a letter has arrived for you.“ 

 _A letter._ Oh, it must have been correspondence from home, from Winterfell. Lyanna had so far exchanged what was certainly over a dozen letters over the past moons with her father and her brothers, never running out of things to write them. With a tentative sort of excitement, she shared the news she was with child, finding relief when her father in return offered nothing but best wishes to her, Rhaegar and the babe. He wrote she ought to visit as soon as possible with the babe after it is born; every Northerner should know the North, his words were. Yet, she wasn't the only one with news, it seemed; a sort of a melancholy washed over her when she realized just how quickly time passed by. In the last letter, Benjen proudly wrote he was soon to travel and become Lord Bolton's squire, something he dreaded since the first moment their father brought up the idea. Lyanna used to tease him, send fright into his bones by telling him Lord Roose would flay him at his first mistake. Ned wrote how glad he was to be back home and how he missed her, never once mentioning Robert which Lyanna was eternally grateful for. It were Brandon's scribbles that were amiss and, on rare occasions, brief and dry which Lyanna tried to justify through his own contempt of letters, yet reading them always left her feeling cold and wistful.

Her eldest brother, her strength and joy, he used to love her with more ferocity than her father and other brothers combined. He carried her on his back when she was little, and spoke to her freely when she grew. And he protected her; if anyone was anything less than chivalrous with her, they would have him to reckon with. He always japed that he would never marry thanks to her, for no woman deserved to be second in her husband's heart. And Lyanna adored him in return, with the heat of a thousand suns.

He never once inquired to her health or the babe's, never paused to mention her husband. It was usually an acknowledgement he read the last of her correspondence along with information his wedding date was not yet known. Lyanna suspected she knew what the reason of distance was, yet shielded her heart with endless excuses. Which was why now, unsealing the red wax bearing her House's sigil, her heart skipped a beat when she saw familiar, messy handwriting.

 _Dear sister_ –

A soft creak of the door snaps her head back up. A glimpse of silver she sees thrills her enough that the letter remains forgotten on the bed as she rises to greet her arriving husband. Now, with him before her, Lyanna moves to press a kiss to his lips but is swiftly prevented.

His ideas are of a different kind, she realizes when his long arms wrap around her and he pulls her to him, lips meeting her forehead instead. Relishing the warmth, Lyanna leans her head against the safety of his shoulder and closes her eyes for just a minute.

„I'm sorry I am late, Jon had to talk to me about something. Gods I missed you.“ He murmurs into her hair, as he holds her near him. Lyanna missed him as well, she missed him terribly and longed for him whenever he was absent.

Instead of telling him, she rises on her toes and smiling, presses her lips into his. His own lips stretch into a lazy smile as she kisses him.

With a soft sigh, she returns to her normal height but her arms stay wrapped around his neck while his own fingers intertwined at the small of her back, holding her as close as it was possible with the swell of her middle between them.

His attention is then distracted toward her bed; looking back, Lyanna just now remembered the piece of paper holding its place there.

„You got a letter.“ He observes.

„I did.“ She returns happily. „'Tis from Brandon, that much I gathered even if I was swiftly distracted from reading it.“ Lyanna hoped it was news about his wedding to Catelyn Tully which had previously been delayed, even more she hoped the date was set so that it would be possible for her to attend.

Rhaegar's thumb leaves a gentle trail on her cheek as he tells her. „Well, do not let yourself be stopped. A couple of minutes won't make a difference.“

Lyanna gives him a small peck on his lips, then takes leave to get a hold of her letter, skimming it over with excitement as she moved to sit on the bed.

_Dear sister,_

_I feel obligated to inform you our lord father has fallen ill. His heart is weak and every day growing weaker. Maester Walys is less than optimistic about his recovery. Father has asked me not to write you in fear of upsetting you, but I believed you should know. Do with this information as you will._

_Brandon Stark_

A warm drop on her hand snaps her out of her daze. Lyanna did not even realize she was crying until another drop falls, then another to the letter in her lap, smudging ink as it absorbed. Then, something is blocking her view and she feels a gentle, familiar hand cupping her cheek. Lifting her head, she sees Rhaegar frowning, looking to her with severe concern. „My love, what is wrong?“

She gives a sniffle. „'Tis my father. He has fallen ill.“ Somehow, saying this aloud has larger effect than merely reading it. Her dearest lord father, the only parent she had in the world, he had been ill and she had been thousands of miles away from him. What if...what if he would never recover? She would never see him, she would never apologize for hurting him like she did, for worrying him. And he would never meet his grandchild that she so wanted to present to him...

„Rhaegar, we must travel for Winterfell.“ She urges him with sudden force, rising to her full height. Her hands grab onto his collar, harshly but it is out of her control. „My love please, we must go. What will I do if...if I never see him again, and he dies...“ She feels a new bout of tears springing to her eyes at this, as well as her knees going weak.

Seeing it, Rhaegar pulls her in without a word, and Lyanna feels a hand sinking into her hair, long fingers threading, gently stroking there. She wished to just give in and crumple, but she knew what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to lull her into calm, stop her from speaking foolishly, from making unreasonable demands. He was not willing to grant this request of hers. On any other day, Lyanna would have been able to see reason in his gestures and implied words, melt into his arms and let him comfort her, yet, this was far too grave a matter for her to allow herself any weakness. 

Wrenching herself away from his touch, she fought so hard to keep her voice still as she met his eyes with a firm plead. „Please Rhaegar, I am serious. I cannot, oh Gods, I cannot...He is my father, I have to go, I cannot just stay here!“

There is a trail of sadness in his gaze as her eyes implore him desperately but it is not sympathy, he is detached as well. Detached, and cold as a stone. 

„Lyanna, we cannot possibly start any travels at this time.“ His voice matches his exterior as he tells her this firmly, calm and unaffected in a way she could never be. She swallows hard and inclines her head downward, feeling a weight in her chest that had as much to do with his demeanor as it did with the news she was dealt.

„But why? Why can't we go?“ She feels her lower lip trembling in a pout as she asks this, forcing herself to entertain his words. Lyanna did not wish to argue, hadn't the strength to fight him on this right now. She wanted so desperately for him to understand her plight, to embrace her and whisper in her ear that he would never deny her something like this.

Yet, this man before her, he looked like her husband but it was not him, it was not him at all. Her Rhaegar was gentle, loving and sympathetic more than any other man she had ever known, it was why she loved him so much. When he looked to her, it was always with tenderness, his gaze was never so guarded, so harsh. This was the king, this man she spoke to. She wondered why; he knew just how important her family was to her...

„I cannot leave my seat in the capital. At this time, it is simply impossible. Perhaps later...“

„We cannot go later, later might be too late.“ Lyanna returns bitingly, holding back tears at the thought. His calm, it angers her and seeking some of her own, she takes a shaky breath before she makes another attempt at reaching him, moves so her stormy eyes would meet his gaze. 

„You do not have to go.“ She convinces him savagely, fiercely as she looks him in the eye. „If your presence is so important, then you don't have to go. Just allow me to go.“

„You are six moons pregnant, Lyanna. You cannot leave.“ He argues with calm, pinning her with the coldest of stares. For all the emotion that she feels coursing through her, namely anguish and despair and sorrow mingling with each other, he seems to feel none at all.  

„So what?“ Lyanna croaks, in a meek attempt to convince him once more. „I can very well return before the birth. Everything will be well, surely-“ When her gaze lifts to his once more expectantly, she sees he is not persuaded. 

„Please Rhaegar, allow me this one thing.“ She begs of him most dearly. Needing him to hear her, she forces her shaky voice into gentleness but it grows thin more than anything. „I will never ask for anything again. Please, my love.“ Her fingertips touch to his face and she watches to him wide-eyed, pleading with him. Perhaps her own father would tell her she ought to heed her husband and perhaps it was childish to beg him and count on her tears to do her bidding, but Lyanna had no other choice, any more than a caged animal had any.

„No.“ Is his short answer before he moves away from her touch. Lyanna, she clenches her teeth and presses her fingers to her palm, the one that had just before lingered over his jaw. Swallowing forcefully, pushing down some of her frustration to replace it with strength she asked. „Why wouldn't you allow me this? There is no reason for you not to allow me. Please, Rhaegar, I-“

„There is every reason.“ His voice is steady and forceful as he moves to pace before the door. He won't look at her and he won't near her, he won't drop down those stupid defences he lifted around himself. He doesn't even hear her... „You are with child, and it is a risk we cannot take. What if something happened to you on the road, or if something happened to the babe?“

We? Why did he talk about them, now it was them, when just a moment ago it was her crying and him denying her? it wasn't his risk, it was entirely hers. And she was willing to take that risk, because her heart would not bear the pain of it otherwise. „I do not care.“ She declared harshly. „Besides, it is highly unlikely...“

„Do not argue with me, Lyanna.“ He suddenly warns, dangerously. Despite the fact his demeanor had been colder than the North this entire time, chilling her, these words had an effect of lighting a fire within her. She takes a rushed breath to speak, but his own words do not allow her.

„You will stay here and you will bring that babe into the world safely. This is not a discussion.“

„Is that all you care about?“ She hears her own voice reverberating harshly through the room in the next moment. Lyanna herself could not tell whether this accusation was something she truly believed in, or something she said to merely provoke him. The glare in his eyes tell her it matters little. She squares her shoulders and straightens her back, refusing to recoil under it as she takes another breath. „Is that all I am to you? Your broodmare to which you are kind for as long as she is obedient, for the sake of easing your own conscience?“

He is most offended by this, she can tell by his jaw uncomfortably moving even if his gaze slips away and he refuses to look at her, not dignifying her with a response either. Yet, the silence is telling and she can see her words had finally reached him. It feels like a bitter victory for beneath the hurt, she can see this did little to change his convictions. Suddenly exhausted, Lyanna lowers her weight on the edge of the bed behind her, miserably observing him pace as she regained her breath.

„You promised me.“ She hears herself rasp softly into the silence, choking on the words stuck in her throat. He stops at this but doesn't look at her, she sees it in the corner of her eye where tears burn again, threatening to spill.

„It was the first thing you ever promised. In that tent, you told me I would have your love and my freedom. What good to me is one without the other?“ Finally rising her head, she sees his lips tightening with pain her words have inflicted on him.

He turns to make another lap across the room, visibly conflicted but instead he runs his hair through his silver tresses, exasperated before he walks over to her. As he stands before her, Lyanna forced her head upward and her eyes in a glare, and yet he ignored her, pulling her head to his chest instead.

Lyanna did not wish to weep, she truly didn't. She wanted to push him away, she wanted to shout at him, yell how he could be king of the whole world but she would not have it, she would not submit her will to any man. Yet, there was this damnable matter of her heart that would not allow her to hold him in contempt, would not allow her to hate him for more than a second. She curls her fingertips into his sides as she holds him close, so close, finally releasing sobs that weighed so harshly on her. In her mind, it was not a defeat, merely a pause she so desperately needed from all the anguish. He stays still before her like a statue, yet warm; only his fingers move, gently twining in her dark curls. „I am sorry, Lya.“ He whispers softly, regretfully. „I do this because I love you.“

„And yet you will not let me go.“ She croaks, words getting lost, mumbled against his chest. He has little to say to this. The silence that follows, it helps her find some composure. He might have loved her, but it was not enough.

„Leave me.“ She demands in a raspy voice as tears glisten upon her cheeks, looking up at him with as much resolve as she could muster. He doesn't protest at this, he only gives her a small nod, before he departs.


	54. About a King

 

It had been three days since their quarrel.

 

Rhaegar stopped in his tracks in the hallway, even from the distance noticing that the space outside Lyanna's bedchamber had been void of any guards. Covering the last few feet, he came to a halt and as still as a statue, let his eyes scrape over the even surface of her doors. Days and nights passed (spent in a cold bed and with an even colder heart) since he last frequented it, her chamber. He was aware of it so much he found himself feeling anxious. Would she bid him entrance? Would she send him away? She would, if she was still upset with him, she would send him away. The thought was what made him keep his distance for days, allow her her solitude in wake of grievous news that reached her. She did not want him, did not wish for his comfort because of the injury he himself inflicted on her by being cold, by forbidding her from acting upon those same news. But he had no other choice, he had no other way. He had issue separating the argument from the woman standing before him, being at odds with her made his own wits seem all the more unimpressive for it.

With the damage already done, all he could do was give her space to lick her wounds.

He just knew it; had he been more understanding of her position, had he started explaining his reasons, before he would realize it he would be the one in line of defense and he would eventually yield to her even if he knew better. Even a dragon with the sharp scales on his back and deadly fire whirling in his throat had a weak spot, how could he not when a little she-wolf held his heart, apt at nibbling on in with her canine teeth, making him most vulnerable to her. Thus, in any case of confrontation, Rhaegar had to retrieve his heart to himself and he did so, as much as he hated it.

His hand hovers to knock, but he is swiftly distracted by shining white armor moving in the corner of his eye. Turning his head, his gaze falls to the young lionknight who approaches, watching to him with a confused frown. „Your Grace?“

He wants to ask what is the meaning of this, why is no one before her doors and why does the young Jaime Lannister watch to him like he had grown horns on his head. Instead, Rhaegar clears his throat and straightens his back, trying to ignore this sense of foreboding gnawing at him. „I wish to see my wife, Ser Jaime. If you would be so kind to announce me and ask her if she would accept my presence.“

The other man's green eyes widen at this. „Your Grace, your wife is not here. She started her journey to Winterfell this morning.“

She _what_? Rhaegar thought he would curse, instead all his force goes into his jaw and his fist. He didn't want to speak because he was not certain the words at the tip of his tongue should be allowed their way out. Instead, the silence is broken by the younger knight, who is apparently not oblivious to his internal state.

„Your Grace, I deeply apologize, I thought you knew. Ser Oswell and myself took care of the travel preparations, you have been busy so we didn't think to bother you with any of it. We assumed you knew and that you signed off...“

„I signed off on nothing!“ Finally he hisses behind gritted teeth. „Ser Jaime, what kind of a fool...what kind of a halfwit assumes the king would allow his willful wife almost grown full with child leave on a month long trip, and that is speaking in a single direction. Are you insane?“ Taking a breath, through his anger, Rhaegar somehow realized it had been completely misdirected. It was his willful darling wife that he wished to yell at, that was if she wasn't half a day of travel away from him. Clenching his fist, he calms enough to ask. „Who is with her? Does she at least have decent protection?“ Travel preparations in less than three days, of course she didn't have adequate protection. Knowing her, she would only think to take a change of clothes, her horse and some gold, never thinking, never considering anything else.

„Ser Oswell is with her, Your Grace...along with a number of guards. Though by my estimate, not enough. The queen wished to bring only the essentials, aiming to get there as soon as possible. I apologize Your Grace, we just assumed; we know how fond of the queen you are...“

Fond of her enough to cost them both their heads. Rhaegar waved a hand in dismissal before it went up to run over his face in attempt of alleviating some of his exasperation, however unsuccessfully. Ser Jaime apparently understood, as he silently excused himself then.

It had been the first time she set him aflame quite this way, and Rhaegar did not enjoy it, he did not enjoy it at all.

 

* * *

 

Any anger Rhaegar harbored over her departure seemed to fade to his own mother's disdain of it.

 „My son, as much as it pains me, I have to tell you, you are too weak when it comes to that girl this realm is supposed to call queen. How does she not see...it is your own child in her belly, how did she dare just up and leave like that? Gods be good.“

Rhaegar rubbed his temple with his hand, disinterested when it came to discussing this with his mother. He was angry and upset himself, aye he was, the fire within him could not be denied. Yet it evoked a sort of an irritation in him, listening to someone else be angry at her. „She does not understand the danger of it, Mother, the way you and I do. She was not born with a crown upon her head and all the hazards of ruling, one was bestowed upon her. She doesn't know any better.“

„But you do.“ His mother says, strict and harsh in a rather unbecoming way for her normally gentle temper . „It is not her job to understand, it is her job to obey. What kind of a queen disobeys a direct order from her king? You are way too lenient with her, my son. I hope this incident has shown you that. She needs discipline, and you are too weak to provide such for her.“

Discipline, his late father's favorite word. The irony of who exactly it was that dealt him such advice did not escape him. What should he do, beat her into submission the way his own father beat his mother? That was precisely why his younger self had sworn that he would never raise a hand on any woman, let alone his wife. Even if he'd made no such oaths, he suspected himself emotionally incapable of doing such. Raising his voice had been hard enough.

„She is still young, mother.“ He attempts to reason. „She was upset because of her lord father's grave condition. I assure you if she wasn't, she would never...“

„And you defend her!“ His mother exclaims in a thin voice. „She is not that young, she is old enough to carry your child around. Her behavior should be a match to her place, but it will not happen without an intervention. Why you even took such a woman to wife is beyond me.“

 _I took her because I love her._ He did, and the worst thing of it was that he loved her for the same reason she drove him crazy. How was he expected to correct her childish behavior when he secretly reveled in it? How was he expected to explain such a thing without sounding insane? The history did not need two Mad Kings, one for fire and one for love. Rhaegar only hoped he could escape the fate of being remembered as such.

„You need to do something about this, my son.“ His mother insists gravely. „You need to send men for her and return her. What if something happens to your heir for her imprudent behavior? If carrying the future of these kingdoms in her belly is not a grave commitment for her, perhaps she should be restrained from acting on her own volition.“

„She was restrained, mother.“ Rhaegar returns with an exhausted sigh. „I did not allow this.“ With this, it became apparent to him she did not ask for his permisssion at all. What good was saying no when there was no question in the first place?

„You, my son, are king.“ His mother replies quickly. „A king's word is law. It is such for a peasant and it is such for a queen. You cannot demand respect without punishing those who do not give it to you. And she, my son, she doesn't respect you. You chastise me for my goodhearted advice, ignore my council and look what happens. Had only Joanna Lannister outlived your father, neither one of us would have these issues. “

Rhaegar wanted to groan at the mention of the late Lady Lannister, he wanted to send his mother away and deal with this on his own, yet something compelled him to ask. „Why would you say that, mother?“

It seems she hesitates for an instant before she speaks. „You know that woman was my lady-in-waiting.“ She says in a trembling voice. „You know your father was spoken to be taken with her inappropriately. You know I never mentioned it, I never brought it up, I pretended I didn't see it, I pretended I didn't know. Had only your father not had a dispute with Lord Tywin, he might have signed off on you marrying your half-sister without even knowing it.“

 „What?“ Rhaegar inquired gravely, not wanting to believe his ears. It was an utterly insane proposition, and one he did not wish to entertain. Yet, his mother's sorrowful and yet severe expression left no room for a jest.

„Rhaegar, there is a very good possibility that the maid everyone knows as the lovely, young lioness of Casterly Rock is half a dragon herself, as is her twin brother. I cannot be certain, no one in this world could be except the late lady Joanna. Yet, at the slightest possibility that it was true, I always intended for her to be your bride. Had it been so, you wouldn't have needed Elia, and you wouldn't have needed Lyanna. Your firstborn son would have been alive and your wife would have been a befitting queen.“

„But that is ridiculous, mother!“ Rhaegar found himself exclaiming, before a mirthless laugh left his lips. Has everyone around him gone insane? „Lady Cersei and Ser Jaime are _not_ my half-siblings. That is preposterous. Have you seen either of them? They are a living picture of lions themselves.“ He shook his head, still disbelieving. „Either way, I would appreciate if you would never bring that up that ridiculous thing again. For Gods' sake.“

His mother seemed to have taken a slight offense at his attitude, inclining her head, yet Rhaegar cared very little. „It matters not whether you believe in your mother's words, regardless of it, there is no denying lady Cersei would have made a perfect wife for you and a perfect queen for your realm. It is not too late to admit you made a mistake, it is still one that can be corrected...“

„Leave me alone, mother. And send Ser Arthur in.“ His request interrupted her rudely. He hadn't the patience, hadn't the emotional capacity for listening to the same thing day in and day out. He dismissed it in the same breath he considered it, he always did when it was brought up. Except right now, through his anger, he saw some reason in it he did not wish to see. Perhaps Lyanna wasn't cut out to be a queen. Perhaps he had been a madman for taking her as his wife and decrying any other option, for blindly following his dreams and his heart. Perhaps the creation of his ancestors would collapse on his head for this choice of his. Rhaegar did not know, he had no answers.

As you wish, my son.“ His mother's trembling voice drifts to him upon those words. When she is at the doors - he sees it with the corner of his eye, she turns around to add before she departs. „Whether you like it or not, her wild nature will not be quelled by itself, and I fear you will be the one to suffer for it.“

* * *

  

„Your father must be really angry at me right now.“ Lyanna sighed into the air as her hand rested over the swell of her belly. She spoke to the babe growing inside her, pretending it heard her and understood for she had no one else to tell her thoughts to. While they were on the road, she had exhausted Ser Oswell to the point of concession with each and every lighthearted topic that could come to her mind, all in an effort to not think of that which truly troubled her. Now it was her, and the unborn child in her belly. Lyanna hadn't felt it kick yet - she'd been concerned about it until the maester eased her woes, reassuring that it is different with every pregnancy and that she should give it time.

 It seemed that time was now for she felt a very distinct kick against her insides, one that almost caused her to jump from her seat in surprise. Her hand remained over her belly as a smile sprung to her lips, now prepared for it, but it seemed the babe hadn't the intention of repeating it for her own joy. A fleeting thought of calling Rhaegar and telling him came to mind then. She sulked with both sadness and guilt as she remembered miles kept them apart, and only on her own volition. But how could she not have acted as she did, he gave her no choice – she convinced herself for the umpteenth time.

A shuffle at the tent entrance snaps her head up and away from her thoughts.

„Ser Oswell.“ She breathes, noting the man who was the source of the distraction.

„My queen, there is a group of our men approaching the camp. I just thought you might wish to know.“

Lyanna swallowed with a sudden panic before she dwelled upon it for an instant. Rhaegar's men – that could only mean he sent after her with the intention of bringing her back. Lyanna was faced with two challenges now, the easier one being breaking the news to the knight who was still under the impression he was acting on the king's commands and not her own.

„Ser Oswell, I-„ Lyanna sighed, figuring she ought to simply say it. „I started our travels on my own volition and I lied to you. Both you and Ser Jaime. Rhaegar doesn't know about this, and those are likely his men, wishing to bring me back.“

 „My queen, but why?“ Oswell frowned and she felt another ball of guilt forming in her throat.

Lyanna looked away before she softly explained. „He wouldn't allow me otherwise. I wanted his blessings but he would not give them. So, I did what I had to do.“ Her head lifted for her gaze to meet the knight's. „ I am sorry, Ser Oswell, that I lied and that I betrayed your trust. If the king looks for any blame here, I shall make sure he knows it is mine.“

The other man gave a small nod, but didn't depart. „My queen.“ He called for her attention once more and Lyanna's eyes rose to his, somber.

„The Kingsguard serves the king but it serves the queen as well. Perhaps there was a time it didn't, but my faith in our king tells me it is no longer so. No matter what, I am not sorry I followed your commands.“

„Thank you, Ser Oswell.“ Lyanna replied with a sad smile.

This time the knight disappeared behind the wing of the tent entrance, and Lyanna took a deep breath, before she leaned her head into her hands. All that she had done had been for naught. Foolish, she had been if she thought she would get away with this, that there was any free will left for her, no matter which path in life she chose. It appeared her husband had been her owner, Robert or Rhaegar, she'd been deluding herself when she thought love would save her from that fate. She only wasn't sure if her own love for him would survive it.

Then, a commotion again. Lyanna just wanted to tell them to go away and not to bother her; still, she supposed there were orders waiting for her to bend under. Lifting her gaze once more, she sees it is Oswell again. Likely to tell her to get the few things she had on hand and get into a wheelhouse. Instead, there had been a slight smile on his face.

„My queen, I just wanted to let you know some other of the king's men joined us for security, on the king's orders. We travel in the morning as we intended.“

Gods. Lyanna thought her heart would burst in her chest at the thought. He knew it, he could have stopped her and he chose not to. He could have dragged her back, punished her, all along having the right of it before anyone who was asked. Yet, he loved her. He loved her and would not bear do that to her. Lyanna wanted to laugh, scream, cry, gods he loved her.

Instead, she whispered „I love you too.“ before she moved into her pillow bed, burrowing her nose into the tunic of his she stole, inhaling his scent. That night, she fell asleep with her hand on her midriff, and a serene smile on her face.

 


	55. A Wolf's Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, guys!! (it's been like...10 days? ding ding shame) I hope you don't hate me too much; I've been so busy and on top of it had a killer case of writer's block. Feedback appreciated as always!

Lyanna's heart thumped harder and harder in her chest for every mile that she was closer to home. With delight, she looked about herself as she rode, recognizing every bit of the landscape covered by a thin sheen of blindingly luminescent snow, not yet thawed by spring. Her breaths came to her more easily, bringing back with themselves the familiar crispness of air only found in the North. Having finally ridden through the eastern part of the Wolfswood, (and at first, having to convince Oswell she knew the route like the back of her hand), her horse's hooves easily moved over the last plain separating her from the castle of her childhood.

The mare she rode had been the same as the one on which the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree had taken three victories at Harrenhal, and as such, it was immensely dear to her already. After Lyanna told him with tears upon her cheeks about Snow passing away (yet not telling him of her suspicions around it), Rhaegar let her know how the mare she entrusted to him that fateful day was stationed in the royal stables now and available to her. Those words were close to the only thing that could have cheered her up. He could not bear to part with it, he told her, for it reminded him of their scarce time together back when they were certain they would never see one another again. Lyanna understood; after all, she'd held onto a bunch of dried rose petals much for the same reason.

With the familiar iron gates within sight, Lyanna craned her neck forward with anticipation, looking for the sight of her brothers waiting to bid her welcome. Instead, her gaze was met with a frighteningly large crowd of men and women. Taken aback, Lyanna gulped with apprehension as she watched to the countless dark shadows in the yard before the entrance, indicating the entire man-power of the castle waited for her arrival. Her ease only came back to her in form of Benjen and Ned whose faces she could now discern at the forefront of the crowd, making everything else become less important. Seeing two brothers, her eyes out of habit searched for the third, but to no avail. Her lord father was also not there but that was something Lyanna prepared herself for, knowing there'd been a good chance he was bed-ridden judging by Brandon's letter.

Pulling her horse to a halt finally, Lyanna did not wait for Oswell to help her dismount, but instead somehow managed herself even with her swollen belly getting in the way.

„Lya!“ She immediately heard exclaimed most familiarly, before her feet even hit the ground. Not even giving her a chance to approach her loving brothers, Benjen threw himself toward her, embracing her with the same strength he did when he was a foot shorter and she wasn't with child.

„Oh Lya, I missed you so much.“ He spoke to her in a voice that was no longer clear as it was, but rather huskier and deeper. With all the changes Lyanna noted about her brother, that which had been known still overwhelmed. „I missed you too, my dearest brother.“ She burrowed her nose into the Northern furs that lined his collar, inhaling the wonderfully familiar scent.

Finally pulling back, Lyanna moved to properly look at him as she held his hands. „By the gods!“ She gasped. „Look at you how tall you are, you are taller than me now.“ She reveled at her younger brother springing up for what she guessed was almost a foot.

He gave her that boyish grin they both shared with Brandon. „I guess I did. I'm no longer the boy I was, I am becoming a man.“ He claimed proudly. Lyanna was just about to reply something teasing when a shadow most known to her crept up behind Benjen's back.

„Your grace.“ Ned addressed her solemnly, yet a twinkle in his grey eyes hinted he did not forget she was his sister after all.

Lyanna huffed nonetheless. „Dearest Ned, if you address your sister the queen like that again, she will have no choice but to ask the king to punish you.“

At this, Ned gave her a measured laugh and Lyanna moved to hug him, holding him as close as she did Benjen, reveling in the safety of her elder brother's arms. „Dearest Ned, I missed you so.“

 „I missed you too.“ He returned in a voice that was stoic, and yet sounded tired. Pulling back from her arms, he watched to her much with the same incredulity she watched to Benjen a minute ago. „Look at you.“ He says with pride. „My scrawny little sister grew into a lovely woman and a wife. I must admit the change becomes you.“

„Thank you, dearest Ned, even if your sister would rather be scrawny again.“ She admitted, breathily sighing with thought. „I cannot wait for this babe to be born so I can move properly again.“

 „Where would you even go?“ Benjen pipes up, teasing. „You are queen now, sitting in your own castle on the silk pillows with handmaidens waiting on your hand and foot.“

„I was a lady here, and I was still faster than you.“ Lyanna returned easily, then ruffled her brother's hair hard, at which he laughs. With a smile on her face, and yet sensing an emptiness with every passing minute despite all the distractions, Lyanna looked about herself once more, eyes searching for her eldest brother. Her heart hoped he would turn up any second now and lift her in his arms, yet she had to admit there had been no trace of him.

„Brandon went out riding.“ Ned tells her with a soft sigh, reading her mind or just her demeanor. „We weren't sure of the exact hour of your arrival, he likely assumed he would be back before...“

„You don't have to make excuses for him, Ned.“ Lyanna interrupted, suddenly feeling the need to sniffle.“I know our brother.“ Injured, and yet refusing to let this completely weigh down her joy of reuniting with her other two brothers, she takes a breath. „What I'd rather know is why did my two present brothers have the whole castle on its feet for my mere arrival back home.“

„'Twasn't for you, I know you dislike such things.“ Ned admits. „We expected your husband, the king as well.“

Lyanna nodded with understanding, or maybe guilt. „Well, he couldn't make it.“ A truth and a lie that had been at the same time. Strictly speaking, she couldn't make it either, yet she did not let herself be stopped no matter what.

„How is Father?“ She brings herself to ask, then. The fact her brothers haven't mentioned it by themselves hardly put her mind at ease.

„'Tis not too good, Lya.“ Ned's lips tightened, giving her half the answer by sight alone. „He is bedridden and the maester tends to him daily. 'Tis good that you came when you did.“

Lyanna gave a small nod as her head inclined downward. She promised herself she would not cry, especially not before her brothers unless they did as well. Yet, she knew they would withhold from doing so as the men they were or aspired to be.

„Come now. You must be hungry.“ Ned beckoned her toward the entrance as he gave a nod to Oswell, as if to say he would be right there to make arrangements and accommodations for the knights that traveled with her.

Accepting, Lyanna moved forward with a brother on each side, one hand in the crook of Ned's arm and another squeezing Benjen's own. She was home at last.

 

* * *

 

„Lyanna, you've barely eaten anything.“ Ned remarked regretfully, eyeing her still half-full plate. Indeed, Lyanna scraped her fork over the surface of it, pushing food around but none into her mouth. The only craving she felt was one that would crop up whenever she saw Benjen angle his wine cup into his mouth. The wine at least had the potential of alleviating some of the anguish seeing her father so gaunt and pale brought her. The dark beard with but a grey streak here and there the last time she'd seen him was now completely greyed, and the relaxed skin under his eyes made him seem like he'd aged at least ten years. The sight broke Lyanna's heart; no kind of warning beforehand could have prepared her for seeing it with her own eyes.

„I am no longer hungry, dearest brother.“ Lyanna returned, sparing Ned a little smile for his concern. The squeeze of a hand on her shoulder distracted her then; her head rising, she was met with Old Nan's strict eyes. She remembered that same look scaring her when she was a child, for it meant she somewhere did wrong.

„You ought to eat, child.“ The older woman warns her, faithful to her nature of scolding disobedient behavior where she saw it. „Look at you, my little lady, as little flesh on your arms as the last time you climbed trees in the yard. How will your child fight the Others if you do not feed 'im? How far along are you anyway, about five moons?“

 „Almost seven.“ Lyanna answered, earning herself a reprimanding huff.

„And your husband the king, he sees not after your well-being? Sweet child. You will be lucky not to give birth on the road on your way back. How'd he even allow you to travel?“

Lyanna wanted to say he didn't, but bit her tongue instead. By now, Brandon would have literally carried Old Nan away with his strong arms, all the while rolling his eyes at all her reprimands whether they were addressed at him or one of his siblings, her in particular. Brandon hated when others chastised her.

 „Tell us, sweet sister, how do you fare at the court? Does your lord husband treat you right?“ Ned quickly shifted the topic. Leading the conversation was hardly his nature, Lyanna knew, which was why she appreciated it. Still, she noted Ned's formal tone and address. it was still odd to her, how everyone else she knew called Rhaegar king or lord or her husband, when for her he'd simply been Rhaegar.

„I fare well, dearest Ned. Everyone at court is very respectful.“ She returns vaguely, knowing no one would ask for specifics beyond it, yet hating herself for lying. Clearing her throat, she added quietly. „ And Rhaegar treats me well. He is wonderfully gentle and kind.“ Saying this, Lyanna realized she believed it. They quarreled the last time they'd seen one another, or rather she quarreled with him and he remained as cold as stone. She remembered wanting to squeeze the life out of him at one moment of it. At the very least, she would have prefered him to yell back; Lyanna did not know how to argue with someone who refused to return the favor. Yet, she could not deny all those other moments of unspoken tenderness that came before it, nor could she forget his gesture of looking to her protection when he was well within his rights to give her punishment.

Him acquiescing snuffed the fire out of her anger and more, it made her want to bury her head in his shoulder and weep, apologize for deceiving him (despite the fact she knew she had to). Who had the right of it suddenly mattered so little when the distance between them made her so desperately wish for a reconciliation. Her heart craved him, her body did as well during those cold, lonely nights on the road. Lyanna loved him, and no amount of fiery anger could make her deny that.

„Good. That is good.“ Ned tells her with a nod. Yet, the look in his solemn grey eyes is infinitely more complicated than the words. They seemed to say _Robert would have made you just as happy, had you given him a chance_. It was a topic Lyanna did not wish to discuss.

„Excuse me, dear brothers.“ She tells them as she rises from her seat. „I shall see if our father has awoken yet. I still haven't the chance to speak to him.“ Going before her lord father's doors had been the first thing she'd done, even if Ned insisted on lunch first. She hadn't tarried for long, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in his sickbed before Maester Walys chased her away from the doorstep, urging her to let her father have some rest first.

Her hand hovering over the wooden doors to knock, Lyanna took a breath. A weak but familiar husky voice beckoned her in and she pushed on the door handle. At the sight of her, her lord father weakly smiled as he attempted to sit up in bed. Lyanna quickly moved to help with his pillows before she lowered herself on a chair by his bedside, then took his hand and pulled it to her lips.

„My only daughter.“ Her father tells her dearly, as his hand moves to cup her cheek, even if his lack of strength doesn't allow him to hold it there for long. His voice and that usually stern grey-eyed gaze have been so affectionate and not reprimanding in the slightest. Lyanna feared it, dreaded seeing disappointment in his eyes, especially since Brandon wrote father was against letting her know of his illness. Perhaps he did not wish to see her, perhaps she'd shamed him too much for him to remember he had a daughter, worried him for too long by running away from him and taking away his right to give her to a man he chose. Lyanna feared all of this, but now all that was left was sorrow. Sorrow and shame.

„Father, I beg your forgiveness.“ She tried to be level about it, not wanting to upset him, but her voice faltered regardless. „For running away and for worrying you, for leaving things the way I did, everything- You have to know I never wanted to hurt you...“ Thinking she may inconsolably weep then, Lyanna buried her head in the sheets next to her father's elbow. She felt a soothing, rough hand sinking into her curls, smoothing her tresses like when she was a child, always scraping her knees bloody and then seeking comfort. It wasn't just soothing, it was forgiving as well.

„Forgive me, please.“ She begged once more, red-rimmed eyes rising to her father's solemn face.

„Hush now, there is little to forgive.“ Her father tells her, patting her hand as his grey gaze rested seriously on hers. „'Tis my fault for trying to tame a she-wolf. I should have learned the first time around, with Brandon that asking obedience of a wolf-child is a void task.“ He says this with tired smile, and Lyanna understood it was not a scold intended for either her or her brother, it was merely a statement of fact.“All I ask for is that my children are happy, either under my guidance or their own.“ He says then, sighing.

„I am happy father, I promise you.“ Lyanna smiled, then remembered to wipe the tears that still lingered on her cheeks. „I mean I am not happy now for you are ill, but I am happy in my marriage. I only wish that you and Brandon had known...“

 „Do not be sad for me, child.“ Her father somberly invites. „I have lived a good life, I have seen all my children grow healthy to their adult age, I have a grandchild on the way, 'tis more than a man can ask for.“

„Do not say that.“ Lyanna demands fiercely. „That is something men say before they die. You will not die, you will get better, and you will live for many, many years more.“

„Dearest Lyanna –„ Her father's somber gaze tells her he does not believe it the way she wants to. „Sometimes time comes for a man when he just knows there is little left for him to do. And when I die, 'tis not my wish for my children to tarry in the past for long.“

„But how not?“ Lyanna croaks. „Aren't childhood and innocence the best part of one's life? How can I take to being an orphan with anything less than heartbreak?“ Lyanna knew what women knew, yet that didn't stop her from knowing the joy of running barefoot in the summer snows, or chasing one's brothers through the scary woods, yet knowing a safe presence guarded over them all. No matter how old she was, she would never be old enough to lose her father. Having her mother be nothing but a faint memory her entire life wounded her enough.

 „My dearest.“ Her father says then, his tone regretful. „You have your own family to take care of now, soon you will have your own pack of pups and you shall find joy in it. As for your old lord father...Even when I am gone, I will always be in the crypts, watching over my children. Of you and your siblings I only ask that you always love each other, and hold each other close. Remember, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. And remember our house words.“

„Winter is coming.“ Lyanna let the familiar syllables roll off her tongue.

Her father gave her a small nod before he coughed. „Winter is coming.“

 

* * *

 

Tapping her fingers impatiently on the surface of the bed, Lyanna gazed toward the doors once more to find them unmoving. After her brothers (short of one) retreated for the night, Lyanna did so as well, alas it hadn't been her own chamber that she occupied, rather Brandon's. All in it had been most familiar to her. By the simple bed, there had been a nightstand, and under it, books Lyanna knew had been untouched. Brandon kept them in his room out of habit rather out of need. Lyanna remembered her and Benjen getting their hands on them when they were little, opening them and having a cloud of dust greet their faces in return. Looking around, Lyanna could not see anything else out of place either, a fact that she found comforting in a way.

After the conversation she had with her father, Lyanna did not wish to allow any ill will linger between herself and Brandon. She knew she'd injured him, worried him and likely in a way betrayed him. Lyanna knew her folly was such that he may resent her for it for years to come, yet she had to try. She would get her words in, attempt to explain her position as well as she could, and she would beg forgiveness. The rest was up to him. Her heart would howl with pain if he refused to reconcile, there was no doubt about it, yet Lyanna knew the first step was hers to make. She'd promised it to her father after all. _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

Thus, Lyanna waited and waited, watched the sundown turn into night, and it into an even deeper night. By her best guesses, it had been the hour of the wolf, yet there had been no trace of the wild wolf of her own. Sitting on the edge of the bed became tiresome and a need for rest beckoned her into the pillows behind her back, however clothed she was. Keeping her hand on her midriff, somewhere between her thoughts and loneliness, Lyanna found sleep.

 The next morrow had her frown before she blinked, wondering what it was that awoke her. Looking around, she could see she was still in Brandon's bed, waking up in the same spot she'd fallen asleep in last night. Rubbing her bleary eyes, Lyanna fought the sunlight as she looked about the rest of the room for a distraction. Her gaze is soon met with the sight of her oldest brother leaning against his own door jamb, by all accounts drunk. One of his hands was settled over his eyes and another held a wine skin whose contents almost spilled as he lost balance. Lyanna moved to sit herself upright in bed, but his words froze her.

„Our father is dead.“ He tells her, and Lyanna's first instinct is to deny it, tell him he was so drunk he couldn't tell right from wrong. After all, she had spoken to her father but hours before, didn't she? And he had been weak and sickly, his long solemn face seemed exhausted with illness but he was alive. Lyanna did not wish to believe anything else, she couldn't. Yet something about her brother suggested this had been more than a drunken jape.

Then, he did something, the last thing Lyanna would expect him to do, he laughed. It hadn't been a true laugh, it had been pained and it had been miserable, taking her aback in its cruelty.“His heart stopped in his sleep. And 'tis all our fault, my dear sister.“ He laughs some more as he leans against the jamb again. „Yours and mine.“

Lyanna did not have time nor the patience for this. If what Brandon said was indeed true, if their father- oh gods, if he truly was dead, then Lyanna wouldn't believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. She moved to circumvent him when a rough hand pulled her back by her elbow, and back into the room.

„You do not believe me?“ He asks her, leaning in enough for her to smell the stink of wine on his breath. „You do not believe your eldest brother? 'Tis a shame, my dear sister, how low we have sunk. Me with my whoring, and you with yours...we killed our father, do not doubt it for a second. I only hope it was worth it. Was it, dear sister, do the silken sheets feel good underneath your back while your husband fucks you with his royal-“

„You bastard.“ His sentence got cut off by a shove against his chest that almost caused him to tumble in all his height and weight.

 „What is it, dear sister? It hurts to hear the truth? Your crown may confuse you but don't ever forget you betrayed your family to get it.“

„I betrayed no one.“ Lyanna growled through gritted teeth, even if she wanted to weep for her father instead. But she would not weep before this pathetic fool of her brother, she would not give him the satisfaction. „You are a raging hypocrite. How many whores and highborn girls did you bed in your life? Hmm? How many of them do you think stayed with child? And yet you think your dick is what gives you absolution, while you judge me.“

Her brother still glared at her in his towering presence, his reddened nostrils heaved as he gave her a cruel sneer. „I know who I am. I know what I am, unlike you. I feel shame, do you? When you wake up in the morning and you see that belly, do you feel shame? Do you feel bad about bringing another bastard into this world?“

„My child is not a bastard. That is more than I can say of yours.“ Lyanna hissed, even if she regretted it immediately. it wasn't that child's fault, and Lyanna hated using its existence as an argument.

Brandon laughed cruelly in return. „Is that so? And you took its mother under your wing out of the goodness of your heart? Or was it guilt? Or was it the desire to show you are so much better than your irresponsible whoring brother who would have once given his life for you?“

Tears welled up in Lyanna's eyes at this. She would have given him her heart right here on the spot, and he hated her, he did. Her own brother hated her. „I did it because I love you, you bloody fool.“ She barely told him in a broken whisper before she moved to leave.

Then, she heard a sob behind herself, felt strong arms wrapping around her, holding her tight. A wail escaped her brother, much like one of a babe as he buried his face in her shoulder. At this, Lyanna started to cry as well, she couldn't help it. Since they were children, a sniffle from one of them would mean profound wails as the rest of them joined their sibling in a wolf's howl. It was no different now, as hers and Brandon's sobs melted together, only with his words choked out in between.

 „Forgive me.“

  


	56. A Dragon's Doubt

„Your Grace, you received correspondence.“ His squire's bright voice drifts over to him. Rubbing his bleary eyes, Rhaegar raises his head to see the young man eagerly shifting on his heels, his features alerted and rested. That was more than Rhaegar could say for himself; for the last moon or so, rest felt like the rare treat gods only allowed him often enough for him not to lose his mind. That was not to say he hadn't slept, rather that his dreams felt more exhausting than reality to the point he aimed to avoid them. Rhaegar contemplated visiting the Grand Maester and asking for some Essence of Nightshade or a similar potion, anything only to tumble him into a dreamless state. Postponing such thoughts for later, he nodded to his squire before he unsealed the red wax and unrolled the piece of paper handed to him.

_To His Grace, King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name,_

_I write to you to inform you that the queen's traveling party is currently residing near the Crossroads Inn, and that our arrival to the capital is expected within the week. In response to your last letter, I am glad to say the queen is in good health and of reasonably fair spirits._

_Your Sworn member of the Kingsguard, Ser Oswell Whent_

 

 _Within the week._ Of course, the news did not come from the most apparent source, for Rhaegar refrained from writing directly to his wife. Not because he had no words to write her, no thoughts to share but rather for he had a lot to say, plenty he prefered to discuss in person. Written correspondence simply seemed ill-suited for the task, thus Rhaegar refrained from it altogether. Even more, he was giving them both silence, giving them space to miss each other. Gods knew he didn't truly need it; in his utmost honesty with himself, Rhaegar had to admit he longed for her terribly. The fact him losing his internal peace conflated with her departure was only half of it. The one night he spent unconscious from midnight to dawn had been when he found himself in her chambers, and before even knowing it, fell asleep atop her own sheets, nose burrowed in her pillow. Annoyed with the fact, Rhaegar refrained from granting himself relief in such manner again, even if it meant aimlessly tumbling in his own cold sheets for nights to come.

Rhaegar still remembered his mother's words – that he was too weak, too lenient when it came to her _._ But how could he not be; she was his wolf-queen, his lover, the mate of his heart. Even when he was thoroughly upset with her the way he was now, hurt by her impertinent actions, Rhaegar could not deny that.

Nay, he was not insulted by her disobedience as his mother had implied he should be, he was insulted by her mistrust. Perhaps it was his fault. He did not trust her enough to explain his motives properly, he never confided in her, shared the full extent, the severity of their situation. How could he expect trust when he himself had not extended it? 

And yet it pained him, that she found it necessary to lie to him, to his knights, wait for his departure to put her secretive plans in motion, it burned him enough for both his wits and his love for her to take a backseat to indignation. Did his word mean so little to her? He wanted, aimed to protect her, to protect the babe that grew within her and she, she twisted his argument, distracted him, made him look for a fault within himself when he very well knew he had the right of it. Instead of seeing the sense in his words and letting him comfort her, she closed her doors to him and avoided him until he was out of her hair so she could do as she pleased. She'd shown spite where he would expect patience. Was her own love for him so fragile, that at first sign of a challenge she prefered running off like a pup stroked the wrong way, rather stay and resolve this with him, listen to his reasons at the very least?

Rhaegar was no longer angry, he was hurt and disappointed. Gods, he wished he was angry, anger seemed like it would be easier to bear. If he were angry, he knew a single glance at her would turn any wildfire he harbored into fierce passion, that the argument would disappear as if it had never existed the second he felt her lips under his, had her moan into his mouth as he felt her slender flesh beneath his fingertips. Nay, this insult would be more difficult to resolve than that. Passion meant a lot, she taught him that, but it wasn't everything – it couldn't be. If he allowed it to be, how long would it be until instead of love and desire, it was need for distraction from more complicated things that lead him into her beds? As delightful as their nights together were, they would not be able to carry their days.

No matter how indignant and plain wounded he felt right now, Rhaegar knew he would not allow any resentment linger between them. The instant she would breach the grounds of the Red Keep upon her return, he would have a serious talk with her about this. He only hoped she would show at least a twinge of regret for her actions, at least for the way they affected him. He did not know how he would be able to forgive it otherwise, no matter how much he wanted to. The only thing he could imagine softening him was if she would return crushed bearing witness to her father's death (something he wanted to shield her from) and in such case, he would put his feelings aside to tend to hers. But such a distraction, just like any other, would only last for so long.

Your Grace.“ Arthur calls for his attention then, from the doors. Caught between his thoughts and the outside world, Rhaegar takes a second before his gaze snaps up and rests on the knight's.

 „Lord Connington is here.“

„Send him in.“

It is not long until Jon's long steps lead him to the centre of his study. „Your Grace.“ He gives a small bow. „ I just received correspondence from Prince Doran; he has finally agreed to consider accepting yours and Lady Lyanna's marriage as valid, as well as swear his fealty to the crown in the event of the coronation. However they have a couple of requests, thoroughly unreasonable ones if you ask me.“

„What are their requests?“ Asks Rhaegar, rubbing a hand against his temple. He feels he would give them anything they might require, if only to put this matter behind himself. He intended to ask the High Septon to perform the public coronation of both him and Lyanna as soon as possible after the birth, and he did not wish to have a lack of Dornish in attendance be noted by anyone else.

„They require a substantial amount of coin given to them from the royal treasury, for the purpose of organizing charity foundations for the common people in Dorne in Elia's name, thus honoring her and preserving her memory. They also want you to publicly honor their house by taking Prince Oberyn into your Small Council, under any becoming position.“

„That doesn't seem too unreasonable.“ Rhaegar mused. „Do it.“

Jon gives a sigh. „There is more, Your Grace. You will not like it.“

„Tell me.“ Rhaegar demands.

„They also want you to send princess Rhaenys to Dorne as their ward. They claim it would be beneficial for her to be under the care of her late mother's family.“

„Absolutely not.“ Rhaegar firmly returns. „She is my daughter, they are not taking away my daughter.“ A twinge of panic sprung inside him at the mere thought. Their motivations were clear to him despite the pretense; they wished to separate him from his own flesh and blood, turn his own daughter against him by keeping her under their influence. Rhaegar would be damned if he were to allow such a thing.

Jon shrugs. „I told you you wouldn't like it. But such is the reality of their demands.“

„Their demands? They are making me choose between my wife and my daughter.“ Rhaegar returns with an edge of anger.

„They are.“ Jon confirms. „In any case, I think your choice is clear.“

Rhaegar frowns in return. „What do you mean?“

„To preface this, I would not be saying what I intend to say to offend you, I am merely speaking my mind, Your Grace. Something you once told me you valued.“ Jon stops at this, as if he waits for his reaction. Rhaegar looks to him before he gives a small nod. „Letting Princess Rhaenys leave your influence could have catastrophic consequences. 'Tis clear they wish to groom her to fight your heir apparent for the throne when the time comes. Lady Lyanna, on the other hand, can remain your unofficial wife under the Old Gods, but not the queen. You can legitimize her children...“

„Unofficial wife?“ Rhaegar murmurs sardonically. „'Tis a nice name for a mistress. Jon, we had this conversation.“

„We did, but back then Dorne wasn't practically threatening war in case of the alternative.“ Jon insists. „ The North is placated either way, one of Lady Lyanna's children would sit on the throne regardless. Your grace, you are best advised to seriously reconsider your stance on this issue. I understand it might not be easy for you, but 'tis what must be done. There is no other way.“

„There must be another way.“ Rhaegar growls with frustration. „I cannot...“ Gods, could he, could he truly? Did he have the heart? A protruding headache suddenly came on, splitting into his skull. Rhaegar grimaced as he rubbed his temples.

„Are you well, your Grace?“ Jon inquires with concern.

„No.“ Rhaegar sighs. „Leave me, I need to think about this.“

Jon turns once he is at the door to add. „In your heart of hearts, you know she is not a queen, that she is too wild for the position. 'Tis why you are conflicted.“

This only caused Rhaegar's headache to deepen to the point he wanted to bang it against the table as means of distraction. Gods, was he truly a madman? _Her wild nature._ That was what everyone said, that she was too wild, too unguarded, too childlike for the serious role of a queen. Rhaegar had no similar notions, what was a queen if she wasn't the king's wife? No other prerequisite was necessary. If anything, the title would bend to the woman, not the other way around. It was his attitude on the matter since the start. Yet, Rhaegar could not deny her failure to integrate with the court nor the fact she seemed to have made more enemies than friends, something no queen could allow herself. Then, there was the matter of her spontaneous nature, of her carelessness. Molding her into a befitting queen would be an arduous process and one in which she would gain restraint but lose her genuine temper and freedom of spirit, something he cherished about her, and knew she did even more. Was this truly the best solution for everyone? Relieve her of her duty, situate her somewhere away from the public eye, thus giving her her freedom and bringing his kingdoms into an era of peace?

Could he truly do it, bring up this suggestion to her as gently as he could? Explain to her that in order to keep her close, he would have to bring another woman into his beds, another woman who would carry the official title of his wife and queen, to whom he would have marital duties? Nay, it was simply impossible, Lyanna would never accept it. Even if she by some miracle did accept it in word, for every night he wouldn't warm her bed her hurt would turn into resentment until it became too great to bear, making her wish for him no longer. Rhaegar knew he could do it, that he could dryly do his duty, go through the marriage motions with another woman without ever once compromising his devotion to her, sparing a single amorous thought but to her. But he also knew she would not see it so, she would never bring herself to believe his vow of keeping his other marriage loveless, that his heart would stay hers and only hers despite it all. Gods, she would be devastated. She would cry and scream of betrayal and beat her fists against his chest until she tore his soul to shreds with her words, and worst of all, she would be right.

Nay, even if the world crumbled around them, he simply would not have it. How could he when he would rather die than inflict her pain? Rhaegar would exhaust every possibility before he would allow himself contemplate this again, and only would he think of it as the last resort.

Decisive, Rhaegar rose and hurriedly breached the distance to his doors, finding his friend on the other side.

„Arthur, get everything ready for a trip. We are leaving for Dorne as soon as possible.“

 

* * *

 

 _In this bottle is all I need._ Cersei gleefully mused as she looked at the tiny, thin glass container holding the sapphire-blue liquid. Before anyone else would have a chance to note it and inquire, she secured it in her cleavage, not long after bumping into her twin.

„What were you doing at Pycelle's?“ Jaime frowns.

„What is the matter, dear brother?“ Then quieter. „Are you jealous? I assure you he is not half the lover you are.“ Satisfied with her quip, Cersei cocked a brow as she moved to take her leave but Jaime's hand in the crook of her arm sharply tugged her back.

„I am serious. I am asking you, what were you doing there?“ Then, he frowns. „What is this?“ He asks of the peaking tip of the tiny glass bottle settled between her breasts.

„It is none of your business.“ Cersei huffs, once more moving to circumvent him, but the attempt is just as void as last time. He pulls her roughly into a nearby chamber, shutting the doors behind them and then turning to face her once more.

„It is my business, and you will tell me what is in that bottle.“

Cersei relents, realizing he would not let it go otherwise. Just as well, he might have a role to play in this plan of hers. „It is a specially crafted potion that I demanded of that old fool.“

„What does it do?“ Jaime asks, green eyes piercing into hers under the frown.

Taking a sigh, Cersei says. „It forcefully induces labor, if you need to know so much.“

„What?“ Jaime snaps, incredulous. „Are you insane? And you asked Pycelle to get this for you? You do know, dear sister, if only he went with that information to the king, that you could lose that pretty head of yours?“

„He will not go to Rhaegar.“ Cersei assures, causing Jaime's eyes to roll at the informal address. „The man is a fool and a coward, but he is loyal to Father and he knows what is good for him.“

„And what if you get caught? Slipping poison to the queen is insanely dangerous, dear sister.“

„I will not get caught. Pycelle says this potion leaves no trace.“ Cersei returns quickly. „I have to do it right now, now is my true opportunity. The wolf-bitch has not been present for moons, for moons he hasn't fucked her; that must have lessened the influence she has on him. In case she were to lose this child so late, it would be terribly crushing for our king. The wolf-bitch would grow hysterical and any time he looked at her, he would be reminded of her failure and his heart would ache after his lost little prince or princess until he could no longer look at her. Then, he would seek consolation elsewhere, which I would be right there to give. Or even better, she would die birthing that wolf-spawn, saving me further trouble.“ Yes, that was what she wanted the most, although seeing her suffer would bring her even greater pleasure. Cersei wished to see her chewed up and spit out, broken, wailing after her dead babe. 

„Do you ever hear yourself when you speak?“ Jaime asks in his usual arrogance. „You claim to love this man, and you want to cause him suffering? Why can't you just let it go?“

„I will never let it go.“ Cersei says bitingly. „That crown is supposed to be mine. This castle is supposed to be mine. And I will do everything in my power to win it back, and I shall succeed.“

 


	57. About a Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief timeline note: At this time, Lyanna is a bit over eight moons pregnant, Rhaella is six. Rhaegar went to Dorne about 10 days ago, so he had been there for a couple of days (I'm not sure how long the travel by sea from KL to Sunspear lasts, but I'm putting it down as a week for practical purposes).

 

„My queen.“ Ser Oswell offers her his hand, and Lyanna accepts, giving the knight a smile for his chivalry. Within seconds, she is out of the monstrous contraption commonly known as a wheelhouse. Lyanna would have prefered riding, but the babe was of a different mind, it seemed. It kicked her insatiably, only calming when she herself calmed, dosing off in the carriage. She remembered being told by both Maester Pycelle and Rhaegar's mother that babes often felt what their mothers felt, and became agitated when their mothers were so as well.

Taking a breath, feeling the firm ground beneath her, Lyanna looks about herself. Her eyes searched for a proud tall figure, a familiar glimpse of silver, yet found none. It was a suffocating realization, that her husband did not wish to bid her welcome. It meant he was still upset with her. Lyanna could not deny some part of her hoped this conflict would be left behind them upon her return, that he would at least be there to kiss her and give her his condolences. Lyanna did not have enough strength to argue right now, not here where the only thing familiar was the warmth of his embrace. Without it, she much felt like she'd returned into a pit of vipers she rightfully fled from.

„Lya!“ Then she heard exclaimed in a sweet child voice, before that same child tore off from her caretaker's hand and threw herself into her skirts, almost knocking her out of balance with the speed of her slight child weight.

„Hello, darling.“ Lyanna grinned at the girl, smoothing her shiny black hair behind an ear. Crouching, she came down to the same height as her, which allowed Rhaenys to throw her slight arms around her neck.

„I missed you.“ The child tells her sweetly. „I missed playing with you, no one else wants to play with me.“ she says with a small pout.

„What about Viserys?“ Lyanna immediately asks. „Does your little uncle not play with you?“ Sweet children, they always found a way to keep one another entertained, leaving Lyanna in awe with their childish innocence and sense of wonder.

Rhaenys shrugs. „Sometimes, when grandmother lets us play. But it's not as much fun as when you play with us.“

„I'll tell you what.“ Lyanna bites her lip. „After lunch, you may come over to my bedchamber and I shall read you a story. Or I can come to yours if you prefer it so.“

„Nay, I like your bedchamber. It's so much like mama's.“ Rhaenys pouts. „Her bedchamber also has a mirror and pretty bottles, but my septa does not allow me there.“

Lyanna gave her a sad smile, thinking to the burned out chambers and two lives lost within them. She is saved from thinking to a reply by a white shadow moving in the corner of her eye; rising her head, Lyanna sees her other knight companion, one she also at times considered a friend.

„Your Grace.“ Ser Jaime tells her slyly, and rising to her full height, Lyanna returns the greeting with a tilt of her head. „Ser Jaime.“

If he was scolded by Rhaegar after her absence became clear to him, he does not let it show. Not wishing to remind him of it, yet needing to know, Lyanna forces herself to ask.

„Ser Jaime, is the king present?“

„He is not, Your Grace.“ Jaime immediately returns. „He had some urgent matters to attend to, in Dorne.“

Lyanna only gave a nod, even if she had a thousand questions Ser Jaime probably had no way of answering. Did he truly, did he have unavoidable matters that far away, or was this his way of avoiding her? Lyanna desperately needed their differences soothed away, yet his absence was not making it any easier.

„My queen, shall we go inside?“ Ser Jaime asks then, snapping Lyanna out of her thoughts. He gives her his recognizable cocky smile (one that Lyanna in time understood meant more than arrogance), before he offers his arm to her. With Rhaenys' smaller hand in her own, the three of them make their way into the Red Keep.

 

* * *

 

„And then the knight and the maiden lived happily ever after.“ Lyanna finishes, closing the book and laying it down on her bed to draw Rhaenys to her lap. The child's small hands tangled in her curls, slightly pulling on them.

„Did the knight and the maiden have any children?“ She asks sweetly, now looking at her pendant.

„I am sure they did.“ Lyanna returns. „They likely had many, many children, like people who love each other often do.“

„Do you love my papa?“ The girl asks then, taking Lyanna off guard. It was a difficult thing to explain, and even more difficult for a child to understand.

„I do.“ she returns cautiously, not wishing to lie to the child. „I love him very much.“

„And he loves you?“ Rhaenys asks with a small pout.

 Lyanna felt something in her chest tighten. „I think he does.“  

„And he will be a papa to your babe, like he is to me?“ The child is at the brink of tears at this, saddening her as well. Lyanna gave her a tight smile. „He will, darling, but he will still love you all the same. I too will love you, the only difference will be that you will have a sister or a brother...“

Rhaenys wiggles out of her grasp, and rises on her knees. „I will not have a sister or a brother! I had a brother and he is gone, like mama.“

„Rhaenys, darling...“ Before she has any chance of explaining, the child slides from her bed and runs away into the hallway. Sighing as she watched after her, Lyanna cradled her head into her hands. Why did everything have to be so damnably wrong?

„My queen.“ Ser Jaime's voice drifts over from the doors then.

„What?“ Lyanna snaps, but then she recoils. „Forgive me, Ser Jaime, 'tis not your fault. It is entirely mine.“

Jaime frowns in return. „Is everything well, Your Grace? Why did the little princess run away?“

„Because of my poor diplomatic skills.“ Lyanna deadpans, causing the knight to give a slight smile. „Is there anything you needed of me?“ She asks him.

„The Queen Dowager is asking for your presence. Your arrival has been made known to her, so...“

Judging by Lyanna's face, Rhaegar's mother was the last person in the world she wished to see. Yet, she gives a slight nod, before she demands. „Wait for me outside, Ser Jaime, while I change.“

 

* * *

 

 „M'lady, 'tis simply impossible. I cannot...“ The stupid girl before her stutters. Cersei rolls her eyes before she rests her hands on her hips.

„Mary, you do remember the only reason you had a position in Queen Dowager's and now the Queen's service is because I recommended you? Will you make me regret it?“

„N-no, m'lady, I serve you, but 'tis simply too dangerous... I would do anything else...“

„Listen to me, sweet girl.“ Cersei forces her voice into kindness she did not by any stretch of imagination feel. She cups the smaller girl's chin and tilts it up. The girl's large brown eyes snap up, looking to her like a sheep's. „ I promise you, no one shall ever know. This is not a poison, 'tis merely a type of medication.“

„But all medications are poisons, depending on the dose...“ The girl sheepishly returns, making Cersei want to slap her over the face just for wasting her time.

„You need not concern your pretty head with it. This medication is different, it does not cause any direct or visible harm. It also does not bear any taste or smell.The queen won't even know she drank something she wasn't supposed to. You cannot be found guilty when there is no crime.“

It seems the girl's tension somewhat decreases at these words. Using the opportunity, Cersei adds. „Besides, think of how rewarding this shall be for you. I would be very grateful to you, Mary. I do not forget those who serve me. Once I am queen, I intend to reward those faithful to me, and punish...those who are less than so. A very small task would assure I consider you the former.“

„What task would that be, m'lady?“ The girl asks dumbly, as if Cersei hadn't explained it already. She brushes the irritation away.

„ All you need to do is learn when the Queen wishes for tea, and offer to serve it to her. Then, just before you give her the cup, you need to empty this bottle into it.“

„And the queen will never know?“ The girl asks in a thin voice.

„The queen will never know.“

 

* * *

 

 Holding his post outside the queen mother's chambers, waiting for the newly arrived queen to get her goodmother off her back, Jaime wondered if Cersei was already informed of the joyous event. He prefered to think she wasn't yet, for her hatred toward the queen was becoming tedious to listen to, when it wasn't deeply disturbing. Jaime prefered to listen to her hate on Lyanna, than fawn over Rhaegar, yet the latter one did not involve all those talks of murder.

Gods, she and her insane ambition would get them both killed unless he somehow managed to get her to see reason. The worse thing was, Jaime couldn't even run to their Lord Father and tattletail about this, since the great Tywin Lannister could not be expected to do anything other than agree to such a shameless scheme. Anything, only to make Cersei queen. He would not be surprised if their Lord Father already knew about her plans, or if that these were his plans in the first place. If they were, Jaime certainly felt like he wouldn't be the first one to know. With him decrying his rightful heritage, Jaime was sure he wasn't far from being the black sheep of the family - if Tyrion hadn't been one already since his birth, that was.

The doors behind him suddenly give a violent screech; turning his head, Jaime sees his queen standing in the doorway, breathing harshly. Then, a sob escapes her, and he sees the tears that glisten upon her cheeks. He moves to ask her what is wrong, but she just storms past him.

„Your Grace.“ Jaime calls after her, moving to follow her lead. It proves itself to be surprisingly difficult; for a woman so far along, she could certainly move fast. It was odd for him to see her weep; she never did, not once did her see her cry except when her mare perished. She was unusually joyful, if anything. What Jaime did know was that when she wept, it were not delicate tears for show many women used to get what they wanted, they were profound, loud wails that left no doubt she was as hopeless as an injured child.

„Your Grace.“ He repeats once more after her, seeing she was of no intention to stop. He did not wish for her to injure herself, then he would have a lot of explaining to do, why he let the queen roam the castles aimlessly when she was all hysterical. That fear comes to a peak when she suddenly doubles down to the ground, at the end of the hallway. Jaime hurries his step; finally reaching her, he kneels beside her, to ask her what is wrong. She won't let him see her face, but he can still see her wailing.

„Your Grace, are you alright?“ He tries once more, but to no avail. Then, a trembling hand rises from between her legs, coming back coated in an angry, deepest crimson shade of blood. Jaime's eyes widen for an instant before she distracts him by falling back into his arms, unconscious.

 _What am I to do?_ _Seven hells, what am I to do?_ He knew what would Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell do. Either of them would scoop her up in his arms, run as fast as they could until they found a maester. Alas, Jaime was not the glorious Ser Arthur, nor the faithful Ser Oswell. He was a man who was instead aware that they were in a rather reclosed part of the castle, and that if he just left her here, she would likely not be found for hours. She would lose the child, at least, that was if she was lucky enough not to bleed out. And Cersei would be happy either way. Jaime was against murderous plots, he was. But this would be very much different, this would be a clear accident. A tragedy without blame. All he had to do was walk away...

His gaze fell back to her pale complexion. She looked so peaceful, calmly asleep. Eyelids with thick lashes were drawn over the eyes he knew to be grey, a slight trail of tears could still be seen under them. She looked so vulnerable, so trusting. She trusted him, she did. She talked to him, and jested with him and inquired of his moods when she had no obligation to do so. He was her knight, he swore to protect her. He swore it to his king as a member of the Kingsguard. He swore it to the realm when he became a knight. _Protect my wife, Ser Jaime. Protect children and innocents._

Protect the only woman who ever gave a damn about him, without expecting anything in return.

Jaime hurriedly scooped her up in his arms, aiming to support her head as he did so. Rising to his feet, he noted just how light she was, even with child and her limbs relaxed into dead weight. It mattered little either way; Jaime felt like he could carry the weight of an entire world.

 


	58. R+L=J

 

Rhaegar knew something was wrong.

The first stir of fright in his chest came with a raven, one that he expected carried the news of Lyanna's arrival home safely. Instead, the dead letters in front of him informed him that his child was about to present himself into this world, prematurely, and by all accounts outside his presence. Any and all negotiations ended then; within a span of hours, Rhaegar was afloat. For the entirety of his journey, he could not bear to stand at the deck lest he jumped into the blue darkness before him, for it much seemed like he could swim faster than the galley was moving.

Even that first night, Rhaegar enclosed himself within a ship cabin, and strictly demanded not to be disturbed. Alas, Ser Arthur came pounding down on his doors frantically, in a way unbecoming to his stoic nature. Satisfying his request, Rhaegar climbed from the body of the galley to the sight of the night sky painted red by a passing comet.

He thought he may weep then, for all his dreams came true, yet bitter in the way he would never imagine them to be. Bitter for he was not there to witness it, and he was not there to hold her hand. She must have been so scared, she told him she was scared; he knew it was for she had no mother to confide her thoughts to, or ask advice from. She only had him, and he abandoned her.

 

* * *

 

Finally breaching into his castle, after what felt like years instead of days, Rhaegar remembered seeing all the hallways and chambers melting into a blur before him. There was only a single door that held his interest; the closer to it he was, the more wildly his heart pounded in his chest.

That was the second time he realized something was wrong.

His eyes fell on the maester leaving her chambers, the man clearly seeing him as well. Instead of beckoning him in, he hurriedly closed the doors behind himself as if there was something ought not to be seen behind them. Rhaegar heard words then, only a few of which stuck with him – bloodloss, difficult, fever and alive. When a wet nurse approached him with a bundle in her arms, telling him he ought to meet his son, Rhaegar could only stare dumbly at the small, sleeping, ivory-skinned child nestled in that foreign woman's arms, soft dark tufts atop his head that already hinted at curls. He remembered feeling resentful in that moment toward that innocent creature, as if it wasn't off his own blood but a stranger that took something from him.

When the child opened his grey, grey eyes and let them inquisitively fall on his own, Rhaegar found he could look at him no longer.

The wet nurse was interrupted in her attention of handing him his child, the maester confused, but Rhaegar ignored it all as he moved forward until his body was curled against Lyanna's atop her sheets and he felt the heat of her forehead against his lips.

She had been so small, she always felt so small in his arms. Small and warm and quick like a true she-wolf, sometimes losing the sense of herself in her playfulness, which Rhaegar was acutely aware of. He'd always been conscious about not pressing upon her too hard when he held her to him, always wary of causing her any injury no matter how slight or unintended it may be. Now, holding her, having her so limp in his arms, he thought he never experienced the true extent of it. Her skin felt so thin and lifeless in lack of blood flowing beneath it, only keeping her close to him he felt he could cause her bruises. Her dark locks were plastered to her temple with sweat, and her usually red lips were now bloodless, trembling with fever and incoherent words. She mumbled through her fever, delirious despite his best efforts to whisper comforting things to her ear, stop her bad dreams. All Rhaegar could do was hold her shivering body in his arms, keep her head nestled under his chin and plead with her to hold on.

Her fever was not succumbing, the maester said in a voice that hinted toward a warning. A body could only take so much strain. It was likely she may not recover.

After hours of this, finding he could bear it no longer, Rhaegar slipped out of her chambers and headed toward the only place he could imagine granting him any relief – the godswood.

_Oh Gods, please, don't take her away from me._

These Gods, that were not his, they were a witness to their love and Rhaegar felt only they would understand his plight. All he wanted from life was for his little, unruly she-wolf to stay with him. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ live in a world without her. For the entire span of his miserable existence, he carried an empty cavern within him that was his chest, not even knowing something had been missing there. Meeting her he gained a heart and lost his mind. If he were to be without her again, he was sure he would be ridded of both. His wits were fried, his heart was on fire and his soul walked outside his body - Rhaegar could only plead with the deities of her own home to spare him the torture of it.

He found himself sitting in the crimson leaves beneath the heart tree, much like the one under which he'd taken her maidenhead. She'd bled just a touch of blood then, the same color as the leaves around him. Now, her small, frail body lost near half of its lifesblood. It was his fault, he realized. She was barely five-and-ten when he took her, as lovely and wild in her youth as she was, and he saw a woman where he should have seen a child. If only had he waited, not laid with her so soon, perhaps then... _„There is a reason maidens are not given for marriage at such a young age.“_ Pycelle's voice rings in his head. Her body was slight and lean, as muscled as it was, hips and breasts newly budded but not yet ripe. All of it caused the birthing to be an exceedingly strenuous affair for her. And all of it had been his fault. He did that to her, got a child on her without care as his gaze got lost in his dreams prematurely. And if he did lose her, he would have no one to blame but himself.

He said all of this to the unmoving tree, which retained that same crooked sneer in response.

 

* * *

 

Returning to her chambers upon the morrow, after exhaustion that came with the anguish allowed him a fitful night's sleep, Rhaegar braced himself for more hours of agonizing torture. Instead, it ended as unceremoniously as it had started, with a few simple words from the maester.

„She is awake, Your Grace. The fewer fell and remained down during the night.“ Pycelle drawled in his sickly, old voice and Rhaegar thought he never held so much fondness for the man as in that moment.

„There is a small problem, however.“ He added.

Rhaegar did not wish to hear it; what could possibly compare in importance to such news?

„Your Grace, I regret to say it, but there is a very high likelihood the queen will bear no more children.“

No more children? It stung, Rhaegar could not lie to himself. Yet, if that was the price to be paid, the price the gods claimed to leave her in life, he would accept it with gratitude. It did not matter. They had one another, and they had their son. It would be enough.

 

* * *

 

Taking in a breath, Rhaegar made an attempt at reining in his eagerness as he came to a halt before her chambers. A lot was uncertain, moons passed since the last time they saw one another. Their last encounter had been less than pleasant, something he would never have forgiven himself had she perished. Gods gave him a chance to make everything right again, and for that, Rhaegar was grateful.

Not dwelling on any expectations, he pushed against the heavy wooden door, trying to make as little noise as possible in case she was asleep. Looking in, even barely stepping inside, he could see such was not the case. There she was; Lyanna sat propped up against the pillows in bed, fully awake, yet wrapped around herself, knees drawn to her chest as if she were cold. An oversized white nightgown was falling off her shoulders, one that made her look even slighter than she was. A desire to hold her to him flared up within him at the sight, and he almost did, except something about her demeanor suggested she did not wish to be touched.

Upon her hearing the disturbance, misted eyes rose in a hard stare to meet his, further prolonging his unease. „Your son is in the other room.“ She said flatly, eyes flickering to the side, away from him.

Your son, she said, not our son. Something in his chest tightened. The coldness in her, it wounded him; she never looked at him like that. He had hoped, expected their quarrel to be cast away, forgotten if only for a moment of tenderness. He supposed it was too much to ask; she was still upset over the circumstances under which she felt forced to leave. Yet, there was something beneath the harshness, a glimmer of hurt in her eye that implied something different from resentment. No matter the cause, he did not wish to let it linger.

„Lyanna.“ He whispered in a voice intended to be level, yet slightly faltered anyway.

He moved to near her but she put a hand up. „Don't. You and I are done.“

He is utterly taken aback by this. „Done? Lyanna, what are you...“

„You're my son's father, nothing else. He just fed, you should go see him.“ She spoke harshly, refusing to look at him. But there was an open wound underneath the surface, slowly bleeding. She hated herself for being weak when it came to him. Why couldn't he just leave, did he like to hurt her so? 

„Just go!“ She yelled in the next second. He didn't listen to her, he came closer. Falling on his knees beside her bed, his hand gently cupped the side of her face. Lyanna, despite wishing to do so, couldn't move, she only felt herself tense as her eyes closed. When they finally opened and rested on his, an unbidden tear fell, betraying her resolve. In turn, he wiped it away gently with his thumb, watching to her with so sincerely pained eyes that Lyanna almost forgot about anything else. Almost.

„Please go.“ She begged in a small voice.

Rhaegar shook his head. „I am not going anywhere until you talk to me. Talk to me Lyanna, tell me what is wrong.“

His hand reaches out for hers then, but Lyanna denies the movement. „No. Do not touch me. Where were you while I bled in your hallway? Where were you? Your mother, she, she told me just before...I still screamed for you. I still shouted for you, I begged you to come in and kiss my tears away and tell me that everything would be alright. Rhaegar, all I wanted was you, and you weren't there.“

„My sweet...I wanted to be there, you don't understand.“ His eyes were so deep, so sincere as he gently cupped the side of her face, turning it to him so that she could meet his gaze. „Lyanna, I am so sorry, my love. I would have been there if I could, you have to believe me. I am heartbroken that I missed it.“ He takes hold of her limp hand then, as he speaks with newfound strength. „I will make it right. I will never leave your side ever again. Just forgive me for this. I beg of you, my love.“  

„What for?“ She asks with a sad smile. “Did I not serve my purpose?“

He frowns at this. „Lya, what are you speaking of?“

Lyanna pulled her hand away. „I know about your prophecy, about your Promised Prince, all of it.“ Her voice croaked. „That was all you wanted from me. Wasn't it? And you told me what you needed to tell me, to get it. Right?“ She choked on these words, the thought of duplicity was what angered her the most.

He moved to take her hand again. „Lyanna, that is not how it...“

„No.“ Drawing a deep breath, she tried to relieve some of the tightness in her chest but to little avail. „I went with you, I left everything because I believed you when you said you loved me.“ The battle of conflicting emotions within her was slowly being won over by hurt, even if it was anger what she tried to feel. „I gave you everything I had. I gave you all my love, I put my trust in you. I agreed to live a life I didn't want, I endured the hardships of it all so I could be near you. I never wanted to live here, I didn't want to be queen, I didn't want a crown. Rhaegar, I didn't want any of it. I just wanted you!“ Tears started falling at this, burning, angry tears accompanied by harsh sobs. Her vision blurred and her ears filled with her own cries before she shouted. „You bastard, I gave you everything I had, what else do you want?“ 

Gods, she left everything. Left her home, left her family, believed in lies and chased after something that never existed. All of it, every kiss, every touch, every breathy whisper of her name, it had been a lie, nothing more than faery dust thrown into her eyes to buy her complacency and access to her womb. She gave her honor for this, her house's honor, she gave away her brother's affection and her father's health. Brandon had been right, he'd been right about all of it.  She'd been nothing more than a silly slut, bought and paid for with no more than a few well-chosen words from a perfect stranger.

 „Lyanna listen to me.“ Rhaegar begged for her attention, yet could see she barely heard him through the wall of anguish between them. Wanting to calm her, Rhaegar shook her again and again, finally forcing her sobs to cease. „Look at me!“ He shook her once more, forcing her eyes to rise upward as her hysterics went flat with exhaustion. His gaze caught her own and severely pinned her there. „ Listen to me. I swear to you on my life, on our son's life, that I never lied to you about my feelings. Never, not at Harrenhal and not in our shared bed, either by word or deed.“ Taking a breath, he continued. „While 'tis true I trusted and considered the prophecy, and that I was wrong not to share it with you, it was never my primary motivation for anything. It did not affect my emotions nor my actions toward you in the slightest.  I swear it to you, my love.“

„I don't believe that. I cannot believe that.“ She croaks, absently shaking her head. „It cannot all just be a coincidence.“ Perhaps once, his honeyed words based in dreams more than truth would have an effect on her, but this time, Lyanna would not be that easily swooned by him. He'd kept quiet for so long about this, and for a good reason. Had she known of the prophecy, had she known of his reasons, she never would have come with him. He knew this as well.

„You have to believe me.“ He returns firmly, moving his hands to the sides of her neck, forces her to look at him. „You can say whatever you like, that I am a liar, that all of this is my folly, that you won't forgive me, you can say any of it. But do not say I do not love you.“

Lyanna shakes her head. „You don't.“

„ I do.“ Rhaegar reaffirms just as quickly. He moves to press a kiss to her mouth, desperate to convince her, to let her know how he felt. Despite her initial resistance, Lyanna ended up pulling him in, much to her own shame. She could not force her body not to react to his, it was not in her power any longer. Her defenses were lowered now, her will was shattered with the feel of him so close. Lyanna was weak before the sight of his melancholy dark eyes, before the indescribable depth in them that trapped her and would not let her go. „I swear it to you, my love.“ He whispers brokenly, playing the strings of her weakened heart. „ I swear it to you by the moons and the stars, may the Gods smite it all if it isn't true.“

She sniffled, asking in a small voice.„Then why didn't you tell me? It's obviously important to you, you never thought to tell me?“

„Lya, I am so sorry, I wanted to...I beg of you to understand, this is a difficult matter for me.“ His hand tentatively rose to move away a stray hair from her face, his touch so gentle and loving, like a caress of a warmest breeze. Lyanna's eyes closed but she didn't move away from it. „These dreams and the prophecy, it had been with me, a part of me for the entirety of my existence. It sounds doubtful and 'tis difficult to understand  and believe for anyone who has a choice in the matter. Please understand, sweetling, I never meant to hurt you.“

Lyanna inclined her head down as she swallowed. „I had to hear it from your mother, I stood there and listened to her tell me how you were kind for still wanting to marry me after everything, how you could have just kept Jon and send me back with my brothers disgraced.“ Traces of anger and hurt made their way into her voice as she met his eye. „Rhaegar, she told me that I should be grateful. For what, that you didn't throw me away like a used rag?“

„I'm so sorry you had to listen to that.“ Rhaegar returned, pushing down a slow burn of upset at the thought his mother could be so callous. Desperate to reconcile, he slowly settled his weight on the bed beside Lyanna. Reaching for her, he fretted she would pull away from him but she didn't.

„Come here.“ Lyanna heard him say, so breathy and soft she thought for a second she imagined it. A single strong arm wrapped around her, drawing her closer and Lyanna just let herself be held for a few moments. Oh, she missed him so. His body warmth had a strange consoling effect on her, even now that it was him she was upset with. Her smaller fingers tangle in the soft silver hair on the back of his neck as he pulls her in, then swiftly moves so that he may hold her on his lap.

Pulling them apart just enough to see her, Rhaegar whispered as his fingertips gently wiped the trail her tears left.  „Please forgive me, my love. I should have told you, I know. I'm sorry.“ The look in his indigo eyes was open, so solemn as he spoke. „All I know is I can't be without you. Please don't make me be without you. Please.“ His quiet voice trembled, it seemed to her like it dissolved into wind. Lyanna felt herself move forward ever so slightly, her eyes falling to his lips. Then, like a child startled from a dream she looked up at him again, eyes wide still with trace of insecurity. „Please.“ He repeated most softly, nearing her even closer. His lips slowly drifted over hers, in the gentlest of movements.

„Sometimes I wonder if I would get my sanity back if I were to kill you.“ She murmured against his lips and it elicited a small smile from him.

„If you ever wish to find out, I would only be too glad to die of your hand.“

She grinned at this response; her heart tore from its leash and all Lyanna could do was chase after it. When her lips sought out his, pressing into them as if they had never before, he was only too happy to comply. It made Lyanna forget for a second that they couldn't really follow up, until a sudden bout of tiredness reminded her that she had just recently spent a whole day in labor pain.

Breaking the kiss abruptly, she softly yawned against his mouth, causing a small chuckle to tear from his throat. Rhaegar gave her another kiss on the cheek.

„We cannot go on like this, Rhaegar.“ She tells him then, most softly. Her meaning is clear, even if her words are laden with weariness. „We have to talk to one another.“

„We will.“ Rhaegar fiercely assures her, lifts her hand to brush his lips against her knuckles. „No more lies, no more secrets, I promise you.“ Only then does he fully realize what the oath entails, and his head falls down. She still didn't know.

Reading his demeanor, Lyanna tensed. „What?“

Rhaegar did not know how to start. „My love, I must tell you something.  Something the maester just now told me, and likely did not have a chance to share with you.“

Lyanna shook her head in response, letting him know she indeed hadn't the clue of what he spoke.

„He said that...that the birthing had been strenuous, and, that there is a good chance we may never conceive again.“

Lyanna blinked, taken aback. Looking to him, she sorrowfully croaked. „We won't have anymore babes?“

„No, my love.“ He whispered. „I am sorry.“

Numbed with the news, Lyanna looked down to her lap before he claimed her attention again, cupped her face in his hands so she may look at him once more. „It matters not, sweetling. We will make it not matter. We have each other, and we have our son, and we will be so happy. And he will never miss a thing; he will have his parents and he will have all his cousins and all the joy of this world. Alright?“

Lyanna just gave a meek nod, but he could see the full weight of the situation had not pressed upon her just yet. With a knock on the door, consolation came in the form of their little son.

 „Your grace.“ The midwife addresses them both in one breath, approaching Rhaegar to hand him the little bundle. Only now he realized he never held his child, only seen him from afar. He has half a thought to give him to Lyanna first, soothe away her heartache, but the small hand pressing against his chest distracts him. The babe gives a small whimper with a wrinkle of his small, small nose, before his stormy grey eyes open so wide, and rest on his.

Looking to Lyanna, Rhaegar could see her smile.

„He looks just like you.“ He cannot resist but notice aloud. All of it was there, her little nose, her mouth, the soft dark tufts atop his head, and most of all, the stormy grey pools staring back at him, making love overflow from his very depths. He moves to let him rest in his mother's arms, then. Lyanna embraces him gently, and the child just calms against her, as if it knew no home other than her warmth. Rhaegar understood the feeling.

„'Tis a good thing your father is dead.“ She tells him then. „He would certainly not be pleased with a child that is all Stark, with no trace of Valyrian in him.“

She didn't even know how right she was. Pushing away the thought, Rhaegar pressed a kiss to her temple as he murmured. „ Any similarity to his mother can only earn him more of my love.“

 Lyanna lifted her eyes lovingly to him to respond, but just then, a muffled cry from the bundle claimed their attention.

„Have you thought how you wish to name him?“ Rhaegar asked her, then. Looking at the child in her arms, he tried many names for him in his head, but none of them sounded right.

„Jon.“ Lyanna tells him immediately.

 Rhaegar cocked a brow. „I was under the impression you and Lord Connington do not fancy one another.“

„I do not have to like the man to like his name.“ Lyanna returns, getting some of her wit back.

„I suppose not.“ Rhaegar says. „Jon it is, then.“

„Are you sure you are fine with it?“ She asks him, slightly frowning. „I always thought you wanted to give him one of those Valyrian names.“

„I did, but none of them fit him quite as well.“ Rhaegar admits. „Jon is an interesting name, both Northern and Southron, much like our son is. It's perfect.“

Lyanna grinned in response, offering her lips as a means of sealing their agreement, but just then, the little whimpers from their babe's lungs built up to ragged cries, distracting them once more and bringing the midwife out of the corner.

„Your Grace, you ought to allow him to the wet nurse. The babe must feed.“

„I can feed him.“ Lyanna quickly assures, her stormy grey eyes rising to the woman's. Her arms slightly tighten around the bundle, holding it closer to her as if in protection of an implied threat.

„Your Grace.“ The midwife's words came out with a lilt of warning. „'Tis not proper for a queen to feed her own child.“

„I do not care if 'tis proper.“ Lyanna returns immediately, bitingly. The woman ignores her words, she makes a gesture toward the babe once more but Lyanna does not allow it, she holds her son tight in her arms and out of the woman's grasp. Then, she turns her head to him, there is evidence of dismay as well as sorrow in her puffy eyes as they watch to him. „Rhaegar.“ She calls for him simply, in a single word urging him to pull injustice to a halt. He felt that crack in his heart, the one that formed with the news he had just shared with her, widen.

„Is there any reason why she shouldn't nurse?“ He asks the midwife, even if he knew the likely explanation of it. As a child, he had not been as oblivious to women's matters as most men were for his mother kept a close eye on him, and when he came of age and strength, he returned the favor. His memories held a similar thing being mentioned the first time Elia was with child, she hadn't fed Rhaenys from her breast either. There was always a wet-nurse standing by, taking her from her mother's arms at the slightest hint of a wail. The question he posed was mostly for Lyanna's sake.

 „Your grace, 'tis not considered proper.“ The midwife returns, chastisement apparent in her voice. „A queen is there to provide as many heirs for the king as possible. Any such is prevented for as long as she nurses. She ought to allow her moon's blood to return.“

Feeling his chest tightening as he considered the matter, Rhaegar inquires once more. „Is there any other reason? Any reason 'tis not healthy for her or the babe?“

„Well, Your Grace, I wouldn't say...“

„Then, 'tis settled.“ He affirms strongly, causing Lyanna's head to snap around like a whip to him. Her eyes watch to him so kindly, gratitude spilling over in them, that he gets lost in their locked gazes for an instant. Remembering the situation, he turns to the midwife and speaks once more. „Allow her to do as she wishes.“

„As you wish, Your Grace.“ The midwife returns, moving to leave but not before she sent another reprimanding glance their way. Brows furrowing with resentment, Lyanna watches to the departing woman's back until she is safely out of sight. Then, she falls distracted by soft fussing and a mewl, their son requesting his mother's full attention. When her gaze falls back to the bundle in her arms, her expression immediately softens.

„He is so small.“ She remarks with awe. „He needs our protection, doesn't he?“

„He does.“ Rhaegar confirms. He moves to get a grasp on her free hand, taking it and holding it between his own. „Protection and love and joy, and we will give all of it to him. All of it, my love.“ He murmurs this against her knuckles before he brushes his lips there, over and over again. Tearing her gaze away from the bundle in the crook of her arm to look at him, Lyanna gives him a most radiant but tired smile in return.

„I love you.“ She tells him simply and his heart skips a beat, the same way it did the first time he heard such a declaration from her.

„I love you too, more than anything.“ He returns in a rasp, yet the words do not do it justice. Feeling he would never leave otherwise and yet wishing to give her rest, Rhaegar forces himself to move then, arms propping him up above her on the bed as he gives her a kiss on her head. She watches after him longingly when he pulls away and rises to leave, and he tarries, giving her another kiss on her lips.

 „I ought not to linger, my love. You must be exhausted. After this little fellow feeds, you ought to get some rest. Look how tired you are.“ He remarks softly, tilting his forehead against hers as their eyes met in a lingering gaze. He allows his hand to rise to her face, thumb trailing over her cheek, the black circles under her eyes reaching all the way there. She wasn't any less beautiful for it, even if he wished to see her not so gaunt for her own health.

„When I wake up, will you be here?“ She asks of him, before she licks her chapped lips.

„I will, my love, I swear it to you.“ He assures, moving to place another kiss to her temple. "Then and forever."


	59. About a Crowning  I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soo sorry for the delay; I've had a hard time writing/concentrating lately. This chapter also has another part (which is in the works); primarily I intended for all of it to be one large chapter, but I didn't want to keep you waiting even longer. Don't shy away from comments, they are much appreciated!

 

„What are you doing?“ Jaime directs the question to his sister as he leans on the doorjamb of her antechambers; his gaze is distracted toward the red and golden dresses splayed over her beds. The colors of their house. „Already getting ready for the coronation?“ He knows the mention might wound her, but he doesn't particularly care lately. If anything, the crinkle of her nose that suggests she is irked is welcomed.  

She moves to her table, where her wine goblet stands. Picking it up, she takes a sip that implies she's had a couple too many already. „You are a halfwit if you think I am going to watch that crown that was supposed to be mine getting deposited onto the wolf-bitch's head.“

„So, what is all this?“ Jaime asks, still eyeing the mess of her chambers.

She takes another sip before she crosses her arms, goblet still in hand. „I am returning home. For the time being.“

„What?“ Jaime snaps.  „You are giving up? After everything?“ He rolls his cat-green eyes. „And here I was, trying to come up with ways to deter you if you ask me to straight up murder her.“

She approaches him at this, lets her thumb trace over his chin as she studies his expression. For himself, Jaime can see her pupils are dilated. „I would never do anything that would risk your life, my dear brother.“ She tells him with a sigh, then walks away.

  „You yourself told me. That old fool Pycelle came before him, telling him his wife was rendered useless, barren, and the first thing he did was go into her chambers, not even sparing a look to his son. I cannot compete with that.“ _Not right now._ What Cersei needed was to regain her strength, find a new angle of attack. That crown would eventually be hers, surely; between her lord father's support and the prophecy she was bound to succeed. But it seemed she would have to be patient, wait for the Rhaegar's infatuation with that graceless girl to wear off. It surely would; he himself was an epitome of beauty and grace, of measure and style. He would not bear it for long, to have such an unsophisticated woman by his side all his life. Cersei understood what grasp a woman could have on her husband through her beds alone, but fruitless coupling was bound to lose its charm.

Lyanna Stark had his affections now, but men were designed to stray, look for a new toy once the old one got...well old. The matter of her barren womb would only exacerbate the process. As kind and noble as Rhaegar was, he was no exception to the rule. Cersei would be patient, and once she had her chance, she would be an animal in bed, and a lady out of it.

 

* * *

 

 „I crown you, Lyanna of the Houses Stark and Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.“ With these words from her husband, the crowd behind her back erupted into thunderous claps and loud cheers. Lifting her head to the beatific visage of Rhaegar giving her a slight smile, framed in the light of the Great Sept of Baelor, Lyanna moved to rise from her knees but found the new weight atop her head to make the task of balance more difficult. Rhaegar's tight grip on her elbow finally allowed her to rise from the sumptuous pools of her dress with some semblance of grace.

The two of them standing side by side before the eyes of the kingdoms, tall and proud and luxuriously dressed (though Lyanna felt such a thing was far more becoming of her handsome husband than she), much made her feel they have just reforged their bond of marriage, as opposed to each of them being married to the realm. After careful deliberation, Rhaegar and his council decided that having the High Septon discreetly recognize their marriage before the Old Gods as all-valid was preferable to conducting a public ceremony, other than that of a crowning. A childed woman could not go before the Seven with pretense of chastity, if the affair was to be seen as anything other than duplicitous. Thus, in interest of both Lyanna as queen, and Jon as an heir, the impression of his birth within wedlock had to remain.  

With all eyes on the two of them, Lyanna's own scanned the crowd for familiar faces, namely her little Jon in his caretaker's arms, a gilded circlet atop his little head. The image of him in undisturbed slumber despite the noise around him, a thumb touching to the pout of his mouth, it made her smile. Not far by, Brandon and Benjen were seated as well, clapping politely, though Benjen with far more vigour. Ned unfortunately was absent, conducting his duty as the Stark of Winterfell for the occasion.

Lyanna would take two brothers over none any day, even if her reunion with them would have to wait until the feast.

 

* * *

 

„Oh.“ Lyanna mumbles against Rhaegar's supple lips, that were on hers as soon as the made the cut to the corner of his chamber, and far from the public eye. She suspected sneaking away with her husband would much be the highlight of her day. Her hand seeks out the doorknob as his own already drifted to the laces on her back, tugging on them as a thunderous burst allows them into his chambers. As they kiss, Lyanna's own fingers seek out the buttons of his doublet, tugging on particularly disobedient ones until she ridded him of it, then moved to the laces of his blouse, wanting to bare his chest.

She is not allowed to come to a finish in her task, for with one last tug from Rhaegar her ballgown unravels, leaving her in nothing but a thin slip. He was no less eager than she, and by the gods, she was as eager as it was humanly possible. When he picks her up next, drowning her giggles into his shoulder is all Lyanna can do lest they escaped her in a boisterous fashion. Arms around his neck, she feels herself carried toward his beds, but he surprises her when he comes to lay her on her knees, on the edge of it instead.

„Stay that way.“ He commanded in his quiet voice, and Lyanna remained, out of curiosity more than genuine obedience. They are the same height this way, with her straight on her knees and Rhaegar in all his height standing before her.

The first contact comes when he tilts her chin upward, meets her eye. Then, he leans in closer, lips brushing against her brow, her temple, her cheek, then finally returning to capture her own. Reveling in the tenderness, Lyanna did not realize what he was doing until his kisses reached the collar of her neck, moving down as his fingers seek out the edge of her shift.

He kneels before her like before an altar; much like she did before him this morn, when he pressed a ruling diadem into her scalp.

„What are you doing?“ Lyanna asks, trying to hold back the laughter from her voice.

„Paying respects to my queen.“ Rhaegar murmurs in return. His arms rise then, just enough to completely rid her of her shift. Any amusement Lyanna felt is soon replaced by sheer need, kindled with the feel of his hands on her thighs, his lips pressing lingering kisses to her belly. Once he reaches the bottom of it, his fingers hook in the waist of her smallclothes, pulling them down with a single tug. Gods, it had been so long, and she wants him there so badly. Like he understands, one of his hands moves between her legs then, gently pulling them apart.

„Rhaegar... _oh_.“ She moans, not able to stop herself, not when his scorching tongue touches her _there_. Her hand instinctively grabs onto his silver tresses for balance, fingers intertwining, pulling it from his scalp. A kiss of fire, she called it, and it had been the most fantastic sensation known to mankind. A hiss escapes her next, it's too intense for it not to, but he mistakes it for displeasure.

„No, no, don't stop.“ She barely breathes out. Head leaning back, her eyes close shut as he returns to his efforts. She feels a trickle of her own heat down her thigh, the most obvious evidence of her pleasure as his head moves up and down, his tongue touching her in the most intimate of her places.

When a long finger curls inside her heat, she cannot help but cry out. Her thighs spasm beyond her control, concerning her that she is making it more difficult for him. „Is that good?“ She hears him murmur before she feels teeth nibbling there, driving her wild.

 Good is a modest way of putting it. She doesn't answer, other that tightening her grip on his tresses. They've done this so many times, he knows her meaning exactly. He keeps doing what he is doing, making her writhe and moan as he brings her to the edge, and then topples her off it.

Both of them falling back into sheets, she grins when he kisses her mouth, letting her taste herself from his lips. Her hands fly to the laces of his trousers, but to her disappointment, he stops her.

„We have tonight for that.“ he murmurs against her lips. Lyanna wants to protest, tell him they could have all the time in the world but she wants him now, wants to envelop herself in him and never let go. She keeps quiet instead.

it must be that he notices her pout, for he lets his thumb softly trace over her cheek. „Come now, my love, we have an entire realm to entertain. Our absence has most surely already been noted.“

Having to admit he had the right of it, Lyanna sighs in surrender. Smiling, he gives her another kiss, then another before he rises to use the washroom first.

 Lyanna remains lying naked atop the sheets, a smirk on her face for she cannot deny the pleasure he gave her, then tangles herself in them because they smell like him. Lazily stretching out her arms above her head, she looks around. She never slept here, in his room, and he slept here rarely, when his obligations kept him up till small hours. Most nights, and every single one since he'd returned he slept in her own chambers, where Jon slept as well. Despite his cries waking them up several times a night, Rhaegar did not mind it when she would rise from the bed to feed him or otherwise tend to him. Her little Jon, who seemed to be growing up so fast. He was a moon old now and it much appeared to her like it flew by in a blink of an eye. Thankfully, Lyanna recuperated rather quickly from the birthing with no visible consequence left on either her skin or figure as she heard happened to lots of women, but the damage done remained inside. She tried not to think about it too much, yet at times melancholy overwhelmed still.

 Jon was her little babe, her one and only, and sooner than she would want not a babe anymore.

 

* * *

 

„My darling.“ Lyanna cooed to the child before her, smiling. When a most known presence creeps up behind her, she bites her lip with the feel of Rhaegar's hand touching to the small of her back. The proud mother before her just smiles, her purple eyes glistening in the light of the Great Hall.

„Your Grace.“  She says, giving a slight curtsey as she glanced at Lyanna and then Rhaegar. Rhaegar gave her a measured smile and excused himself, but not before he pressed a kiss to his wife's head. The entire court brewed with stories, half told with fear and half with jealousy how Rhaegar did not even look at his newborn son, so lost he was with the thought of her death. His mother was sent packing to Dragonstone a few days later, for reasons that weren't hard to guess. Everyone knew the queens got along terribly and one of them had to leave at some point. Which one would it be was clear.

Smiling, Ashara shifts the babe in her arms. „I thought I would bring her out here for some new experiences of the world. She also adores our little princeling, much like the rest of the court. Is he not here?“

Lyanna supposed Jon thrilled much of the court in the way his mother could never do. She noted all the ladies who previously would barely give her a passing glance besides ones of contempt, now stopping before her to inquire excitedly about him and thrill over how pretty of a babe he was.

„He is still rather little to stay too long in crowds.“ Lyanna says in her husky voice. „It would do nothing else than disturb him in his slumber so we left him with the wet-nurse.“

Him being present for the coronation was enough to show him off to the world. Lyanna would have surely brought him out despite of it had Brandon and Benjen not seen him sooner, but they arrived a few days earlier and already spent much time with their nephew, arguing who he resembled the most out of their family. Brandon had more authority on the matter, seeing he'd seen them all as babes, and Benjen could not argue with his conclusions that his looks were those of Lyanna, but his behavior much resembled that of Ned. Jon was a calm and quiet babe, more than most, and Lyanna herself saw his father in him for that. Much like Ashara had to see Brandon in her own daughter as well. 

Noting she was looking at her, the babe laughed at her sweetly and Lyanna's heart thawed when her little fist squeezed around her finger.

„If I may say, you simply look radiant, Your Grace. It seems that Anya agrees.“

„Thank you, you are very kind. “ Lyanna returns with a lopsided smile, her gaze still occupied with the babe. She was a spirited being, much looking like a she-wolf that owned her attire, as opposed to the other way around. The smile is also reminiscent of someone else.

„Pardon me if the question is out of place, but you wouldn't happen to know where Lord Brandon is? I've been meaning to talk to him. In private.“

That last remark did not get lost on Lyanna; immediately her eyes flew to the background, where they found a lady of auburn hair and bright blue eyes, seated beside her father. From there, her gaze lingers over the rest of the crowd before she gives a sigh. 

„I saw him at the coronation, but I honestly could not tell you where the fool of my brother resides now.“ Her voice was laden with fondness for said brother, making _fool_ sound much like an endearing epithet.

Indeed, Lyanna hadn't a clue; with both Catelyn and Ashara present, she wouldn't be surprised to find him hiding under her own beds. But then, Benjen had been missing as well. A part of her hated that her brothers snuck away from her crowning celebration, mostly for she could not do the same. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, for certain spaces at the tables remained empty, to her own relief. The Baratheon table barely existed, mostly dominated by the gloomy appearance of Lord Stannis. A certain Lannister lady was missing but hardly missed. And of course, her goodmother for whom she imagined was in the Castle of Dragonstone now. Rhaegar did not wish to discuss the circumstances of her departure in prolonged terms, but Lyanna much imagined it was something he'd done for her own sake. She'd only regretted little Viserys leaving as well.

 


	60. About a Crowning II

 

„Your Grace.“ A smooth voice with a Dornish lilt greets him, yet Rhaegar does not feel the warmth the voice is supposed to relay. The table glowing with orange and yellow has been in the corner of his eye the entire time, unsettling him, but this was the first approach any of the Martells made. Rhaegar supposed it was appropriate Prince Oberyn was sent to represent the sun and the spear, considering Prince Doran's health condition.

„I would call you my goodbrother, but it seems that is no longer true.“ Oberyn adds, his dark eyes meeting his boldly, shining like a snake's.

„To my regret, it is not.“ Rhaegar returns cooly, yet truthfully. He never wanted for things to go that way.

„You don't seem very regretful to me, Your Grace.“ Oberyn remarks, looking around the Great Hall. There were lords and ladies dancing, rich laughs and light giggles could be heard above the music. Rhaegar even caught Lyanna smiling in the corner of his eye.

Rhaegar wanted to make a well-placed humbling remark, to make the viper slip back into his grass, but he found he had no words. It enraged him that others presumed to know his feelings, or stooped so lowly to demean his character in his own home. He grieved Elia, he grieved his son, Gods were his witnesses. He doubted himself, he doubted his choices and he cursed his fate. Yet, a guilty voice in the back of his mind whispered it was not enough, that the man before him was right, he was right about all of it. A moon of misery could not compare to the lifetime in the ground Elia was facing right now. There wasn't anything he could do to change the past, but taking his own solace in the fact was wrong. 

„Speaking of which, where is our queen?“ Oberyn inquires next, snapping him out of his own thoughts. „I am yet to see her grace.“

 _If it was up to me, you would never see her._ „There is no need for you to see the queen.  Any and all problems you may have, you will address to me and only me.“

„I only wanted to congratulate her, Your Grace.“ Oberyn returns in mock surprise. „'Tis not always that a queen's spot clears and that another succeeds in fulfilling it.“

 _She didn't._ Rhaegar wanted to growl. Elia had her place in court, and Elia had a place at the side of her firstborn son, all of which she would still have were she alive, but Elia never had a claim on his heart. Lyanna did not take that position, she invented it.

„I will make sure to give her your congratulations in your place, then.“ Rhaegar says, though both men know that is not the true topic of their conversation.

„And where is my darling niece?“ Oberyn asks next, looking around. „I shall hope she wasn't left behind because she impeded on the picture of your new perfect family.“

Were Rhaegar a more violent man, he might have grabbed the prince's collar for his implications. Instead he remains calm, faithful to his own nature. „Of course not. It was the matter of her feeling unwell.“ Indeed, Rhaenys dragged her feet when she was to be prepared for the celebration, crying to him that she did not wish to go. Jon's birth seemed to aggravate her behavioral problems further.

Rhaegar took any opportunity to give her attention, he had been mindful to never make her feel left out but his successes were poor. She cried if she was to spend time with her brother, and cried even worse when Rhaegar would spend time with him or Lyanna. All of it left Rhaegar weak to her requests.

„I would wish to see her when you deem it appropriate, Your Grace. I also hope you did not forget the matter of her wardship was never resolved.“ Rhaegar gives a nod with gritted teeth, allowing this visit only for how he would look it he did not. No matter their differences, he knew better than to assume the Dornish would see to their own niece's harm.

* * *

 

„Are you alright?“ Lyanna asks immediately after he takes his seat next to her. No matter how politely he acted, his true demeanor could not go unnoticed, it seemed. At least, not by her.

„No.“ He sighs, having little reason to lie. „But I will be, my lady knight.“ He tells her, raising her hand to press it to his lips. The gesture steals a little smile from her, one he genuinely returns.

„Your Grace.“ The call comes next, snapping both of their gazes away from each other and before themselves. Rhaegar's eyes settle on the tall, muscled figure of Brandon Stark. „Your Grace.“ He repeats the greeting, this time to Lyanna, who huffs and crosses her arms.

„Don't 'Your Grace' me. Where have you been?“ Rhaegar knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of her wrath, and he did not envy Brandon Stark in that moment. He was, however, amused, which he tried not to show.

„Dearest sister, I promise, you can berate me later. Right now, I came to speak to the king.“ This seems to surprise Lyanna, who looks to him. Rhaegar, not having any better idea than she, prompted the conversation instead.

„You have my attention, Lord Stark.“

„Thank you, Your Grace. I would like to speak to you on the matter of my position as the Lord of Winterfell. I wish to relinquish it.“

„What?“ Lyanna asks loudly, snapping both of their attention to her. „Excuse us, dear husband.“ She says then, before she stands up. Moving, she hooks her brother under his elbow and quite forcefully pulls him to the side.

„What in the seven hells is wrong with you?“ She cannot help but lash out. „How can you come and demand such a thing?“

She expects a kindred fiery temper engaging with her own but instead, Brandon just stares back at her coolly. „It is my heirloom, and as such, it is mine to do with as I want.“

Lyanna huffs in return. „'Tis exactly my point that 'tis yours, you halfwit. You cannot just run from your obligations. It is your birthright, and it is your duty...“

„I consider it my duty to do the best by my father's heritage. I am not the best man for the job. Ned is.“

„Nonsense!“ Lyanna returns in a shrill, leaning into the argument. „You are the firstborn, Winterfell is yours, and 'tis only your cowardice that is making you decry it. Don't you dare bring Father into this, he spent all his life trying to set the two of us straight. He would not stand for you doing this, for you...“ She stopped at this, blinking down as her voice faltered. Lyanna did not know what it was, but the mere idea of Brandon being left with nothing made her wish to bawl.

Brandon's gruff hands brushed against her arms. „Lya...come now.“ His voice was gentler, less detached now, the way she knew it to be. „You know that 'tis not my nature that is best suited for the job. Our father's death is what showed me I only wanted the job out of spite. Aye, I could try, I could suffer, making both myself and everyone around me miserable. But that is not what I want for myself,  and it is not what Winterfell deserves.“

„And what about Ned?“ Lyanna asks, slowly allowing the defeat. „Have you talked to him about it? Have you considered that maybe he doesn't want to take his brother's birthright, no matter how foolish the said brother is being?“

Brandon sighs. „He is not happy about it, but he will have no choice once your Targaryen husband gives his approvals. At the end of it, none of our feelings on the subject matter. I want to do that which is best for Winterfell, and in the long run, best for everyone.“

„And Catelyn? You do know she is promised to the Heir to Winterfell, what will be of your betrothal?“ The sweet auburn-haired lady whose gaze eagerly sought out Brandon whenever he was within sights. She would surely be crushed by this as well.

„She doesn't know it yet, but she is better off without me. Do you think she would want me if she knew I had a bastard? She will be sad for a few days, but then she'll be betrothed to someone who would make her far happier than I could ever make her.“

When Lyanna didn't respond, her brother stepped forward to embrace her. „Come now, my little she-wolf, I need your support with this. I am trying to make things right. Alright?“ He pulled back in expectation of a response. When Lyanna finally gave a nod, he kissed her cheek.

Both of them moved back to the royal dais, with Rhaegar's eyes following from Brandon to herself, where they lingered a little longer, studying her expression. She watched before herself, sulking for reasons that only vaguely revealed themselves to Rhaegar. Suspecting the answer lies in his goodbrother, Rhaegar turns his attention to him. Brandon himself first glances toward Lyanna, then, satisfied with her placidity, sets into speech.

„Your Grace, as I was saying, I have a request to make. I desire to be released of my inherited duty as Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North, and for those titles to instead go to my brother, Lord Eddard Stark.“

„Lyanna, what say you?“ Rhaegar turned to ask, watching to her reaction more than he did to the words spoken. He was already familiar with her stance on the issue.

Lyanna looks to Brandon, then she murmurs. „If 'tis my brother's desire, then it is mine as well.“

Rhaegar wondered at this, gods knew she wasn't the easiest person to argue with, much less persuaded into something she did not agree with. Perhaps it was the sibling bond that made a difference in this instance.

„Very well.“ Rhaegar says. „If it is so, then I have no reason to stand an obstacle to your request. However, I would have a couple of my own.“

At this, Lyanna's eyes fly to him with uncertainty. Wanting to assure he indeed worked in everyone's interest, Rhaegar lets his hand rest over hers atop the table, before he speaks once more.

„I would relieve you of your duty, if you would agree to another one in my service. My council is currently being composed and in need of educated, knowledgeable young lords. I haven't anyone of the North yet to give me council, save for my darling wife.“

„Truly, Brandon can live here?“ Lyanna sprouts with elation beside him, having already calculated the ending result in her head. Rhaegar knew having at least one of her brothers close to her at all times was an idea she would find immensely pleasing. He was more concerned with how Brandon himself would react.

„If you allow this, I've no ties to the North anyway. I suppose I could move.“

Looking to Lyanna, Rhaegar could tell she put all her efforts toward not jumping with joy. Not letting his own amusement show beyond the corner of his mouth, he says. „Very well. We ought to find you a bride, then.“

„If you don't mind, your Grace, I already have someone in mind.“ The sigh indicated this wasn't the most joyful of decisions for the wild wolf to make. It was, however, a mature one. „I might as well do my duty and pay my debts, if I truly wish to honor the memory of my father.“

„Talk to your bride, and if she and her family agree, I agree as well.“ Rhaegar says. Brandon nodded before he gave a quick bow and walked away.

Returning his attention to Lyanna, Rhaegar could see her head snapping left and right before she surprised him, moving to press a kiss to his own lips. „Thank you.“ She tells him through the beautiful grin that is splitting her face. „Thank you, thank you...“ she keeps telling him as she kisses him again. Her advances quite made Rhaegar wish he could make everyone around them disappear and lay her on the table before him. As delightful as the thought was, meeting it in reality was impossible.

„Lyanna, wait. Lyanna...“ He interrupts her kisses, hating himself for always being the voice of reason. As if remembering where they were, she shyly bites her lip as she pulls away.

„I will make it up to you.“ He promises in a whisper. Slowly pulling back, he lets let his nose nuzzle against hers, in affirmation of his words. She moves to return the gesture, but her eyes avert and she pulls back abruptly.

„My love, what is it?“ He immediately asks, concerned with the grimace of discomfort on her face. Lyanna doesn't say anything, he only sees her fingers playing with the laces at the front of her gown, keeping her swollen cleavage protected.

Surely feeling his gaze on her, she affords him a glance. „'Tis nothing.“ She says huskily. „Just a momentary shard of pain.“

The heavy ache in her breasts reminded Lyanna of her suckling babe, dependent on her for nourishment. Around this time, she would feed him and it seemed her body had a way of reminding her of it even when his cries didn't. Today had been the first time Jon was left in the care of a wet-nurse, and that she hadn't seen him for hours.

Thin fingers touching to her husband's larger hand across the table, Lyanna said. „I shall go and check on Jon. I will be right back.“

 Rhaegar gave her a little smile of acceptance, and Lyanna lifted his hand from across the table and kissed his fingertips before she rose from her seat.

Catching passing glances from many a lords and ladies, Lyanna let herself move away from hers and Rhaegar's table, feeling his loving eyes following her as she did so.The length of her luxurious coronation dress was messing with her steps; she clutched onto the harsh fabric to keep it somewhat in the air.

Reaching the Maidenvault, Lyanna hurried her step toward her own chambers, where she left Jon with his nurse. She'd been eager for the sound of his happy cries and gurgles that she often heard by this point, yet, the silence beyond the clack-clack of her own steps that filled her ears never ceased.

Perhaps one would say that gave little cause for concern; It could be a hundred and one different thing. Jon being asleep as he still spent most of his days slumbering like the babe that he was, the wet nurse taking him out for a breath of fresh air in the gardens, to name a few - it could be either of those things. But Lyanna knew, she just _knew_ something was not quite right.

The sight of the doors to her own chambers open in the distance sealed it, any rational restraint Lyanna held on to flew to the wind as she hurried her step. What came next remained blurry in her brain, as her eyes fell to Rhaenys sitting on the floor, looking up at her with her dark eyes, and then a corner of a white blanket on the floor next to her, and a cat scooting around it. The cat sprang away, slighted as Lyanna fell to her knees, hurriedly picking Jon up.

Gods, why was he on the floor? There had been a red streak of a claw across his otherwise unblemished brow, but instead of wailing with discomfort as the sight suggested he should be, his heavy eyelids have been drawn with sleep.

He was just playing...“Rhaenys' thin child voice calls to her, referring to her kitten.

„Stop talking.“ Attempting to keep calm, Lyanna rocked her son slightly, longing for him to give her that small mewl he always gave her as a way of greeting her. The corner of her eye noted Rhaenys running out of the room, but she could not afford to think about it right now.

Still unwaking, Jon remained completely silent. He remained so even when she sprang up to her feet as she held him, perhaps hoping the sudden movement would snap his eyes open to hers. Fixated on him, Lyanna shook him once more softly, then harder when her efforts proved to be fruitless. Frightened tears welled up in her eyes, as she watched to him, still unmoving, and most of all, feeling stiff in her arms.

 _Please wake up, please. You're all I have._  Lyanna closed her eyes with a prayer before she dared lean her head closer to him, hoping to hear or feel a small puff of air from his tiny lungs. 

_Please, please, please..._

When a small gurgle tore through the suffocating silence, Lyanna thought she would die with relief.

„Oh my darling, oh.“ She cooed to her sweet babe, having to smile when his large grey eyes flew wide open. He fussed and what were sweet gurgles soon built up to loud cries, likely warning her of of the pain caused by the angry red line across his brow. He must have been so scared as well, lying there on the floor, with a creature that to a babe much was a frightening beast of a larger size than himself.

 „Hush, sweetling, hush. Mama is here now, she won't leave you.“ she whispered softly to her son, for his comfort as much as her own. As if he understood, a tiny hand searches out her face then, and Lyanna catches it, pressing a kiss to it. He falls quiet almost immediately after this, those pretty grey eyes of his widening as he looked to her. Lyanna leaned in to inhale that sweet fresh scent of a babe that lingered atop his head, then rubbed her nose against his warm cheek, trying to soothe her still very much unsettled heart.

„Lyanna?“ A familiar voice calls for her attention; head snapping up, she sees her husband standing just outside the doors, a confused frown on his face. Behind his pant leg, a small child is peaking out, her dark eyes averting from her with discomfort. The sight made Lyanna feel regretful about elevating her voice earlier.

„She chased Balerion away and told me to shut up.“ Rhaenys mumbles against her father's leg, hiding her face against him. His own gaze immediately snapped up to Lyanna's, questioning her own take on the words.

„I am sorry, I didn't mean to. I was scared, I just found him on the floor and... He wasn't breathing, Rhaegar.“

„What? Where was the wet-nurse?“ Rhaegar moved to walk forward, his eyes fixed to his son, but Rhaenys' tight grip on his pant leg doesn't let him.

„I don't know, Gods Rhaegar.“ Lyanna returns with a forlorn sigh, her dismay apparent to him. „I just found him like this.“ Her red-rimmed eyes cast down to her son once more, as if she feared he might be unwell again if she was not there to keep watch over him.

Falling distracted by insistent pulls on his pant leg, Rhaegar looked toward his daughter then. „Come, darling.“ He gently suggested to the child. Prying her tiny fist from where she clutched to him, he took her little hand into his larger one.

„I don't want to.“ Rhaenys pouted but he ignored it for the instant it took him to reach Lyanna, press a consoling kiss to her brow. She much seemed on the brink of tears, and how not? Up close, Rhaegar could see the evidence the cat left. It would soothe over, but Rhaegar knew better than to think that fact could fully relieve a mother's worry.

„We will get a maester to check him over.“ He murmurs to her ear, at which Lyanna gives a slight nod, sniffling. What he was more intent on knowing was how did such a thing come to happen in the first place, so any future incidents would be prevented.

He kneels so he is in line with his daughter, who still seems in a worse mood than any child should ever be. „Tell me, my Rhaenys, where is your nanny? Were there no adults with Jon when you came to play with him?“

Rhaenys shrugs. „I was playing in the hallway and the door was open. He was crying and the sound was ugly, so I put him on the floor for him to stop. Balerion was just playing with him, but Jon is so boring, he doesn't know how to play. All he does is cry.“

„My darling.“ Rhaegar gave a tight smile. „That is because he is still a babe, like you were once. He is still too young for Balerion to play with him, and you have to be careful, too.“

Rhaenys frowns. „I do not want to be careful. I don't want to play with him any longer. All you do is care about him, I wish he would die at once!“ She screams this loud enough in her child voice that Jon wakes once more, mewling with discomfort.

 Before Rhaegar remembers his voice, she tears from his grip and runs down into the hallway, leaving him with the sight of Lyanna shushing Jon in her arms, and the tears streaming down her cheeks.


	61. From Cradle to Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay, and for this chapter being kinda short! I had some problems with concentration lately, as well as finding time to write. I still hope this is to your liking :)

 

„I don't know what I would do had he died.“ Lyanna tells him, leaning her head against his lap. They have stayed this way for a while; the scare Jon afforded them still weighed heavily on her mind, making her curl into his side and seek comfort.

Rhaegar lets his hand sink into her dark curls, and answers. „It is over now, my sweet. He is well. Try not to think about it anymore.“

She rises to meet his gaze, misted eyes indicating it was something more easily said than done. „I honestly don’t think I would bear it,“ she says. „I would go and hurl myself off a tower in the next instant.“

„Please, don't tell me that.“ He urges her gently, reaching to cup her cheek. Rhaegar suspected that in case of losing her, he would much have a similar response. Except, in his case, the abrupt meeting of the ground would be replaced with barbs and wires of his ancestral throne.

„How not?“ Lyanna croaks in return. „He is my only son, Rhaegar. My one and only babe. If I lost him, gods forbid, but if I did, what reason would I have to wake up on the morrow?“

 „So you would not stay? Not even for me?“ He asks, perhaps intending to inject some levity into a thoroughly dark subject.

Lyanna sniffles, then looks up. „I would stay,“ she says severely. „I would stay for you. But my heart would break that I could never give you anymore babes.“ Despite her practicing detachment, he can see the tears glistening, threatening to spill. She was more than scared, the incident stumbled upon an already tender spot in her heart. A wound she much hid from him, and, he suspected, from herself as well.

 „Come here.“ Rhaegar invites, and she indeed comes. She climbs into his lap and leans her head against his chest, like a she-wolf tamed in her sadness. Rhaegar himself presses a kiss to the top of her head.

„I am more than content with the babe you have given me.“ He rasps, meaning it profusely. „Our little prince, who we shall love, and cherish, and protect. No harm will come to him, my love. But even if, by some merciless jest of Gods, cruel spin of fate it did, all I ask of life is to always have you by my side.“ It was a dark fear of his own. She cried, bled and almost died to give the world its Promised Prince. Truth be told, Rhaegar dreaded another quickening in her womb, for it meant another chance of losing her.

Lyanna doesn't say anything, but he can feel her even breaths, going in and out. He lets his own hand return to stroking back her soft curls. They stay calm like this until another subject comes to the forefront of his mind.

„I had a chance to speak with prince Oberyn today.“ He tells her.

Her head remains nestled under his chin, as she asks. „Truly? What about?“

„About…Rhaenys.“Rhaegar sighs. „They want for her to be taken to Dorne as their ward.“

„What?“ Lyanna asks severely, rising to meet his gaze. „You cannot allow them to take her, Rhaegar.“ She shakes her curly head. „You simply cannot. What if…“

„I know, sweetling. I know.“ He soothes her into calm, back onto his chest. His other hand moves to rest over his forehead, where a headache was forming. „I am just mentioning it, 'tis all.“ If Lyanna herself considered it inconceivable, why was it that the thought roamed aimlessly within his head? Perhaps it was merely a reaction to the misfortunate thing that happened today. He promised Lyanna he would protect their son, yet her own mother's instinct was the only thing that kept him safe. After the examination, the master said it were minutes, if not seconds that separated his prince from being suffocated. He of course, hadn't shared those exact words with Lyanna in fear of concerning her further. Yet, his own mind troubled him; if she hadn't gone to check on him when she did, only gods knew -

„Rhaegar?“ She calls for him, then.

He inclined his head to look upon her. „What is it, my sweet?“

Lyanna's brows furrow as she asks. „You are not upset with Rhaenys, are you? Please don't be, she is but a child herself, she didn't know ...“

 _She wished for her brother's death._ Rhaegar sighs, perhaps in attempt to shed the thought. „Nay, I am not upset with her. I am upset with the situation, with myself. How did this come to happen at all.“ Rhaegar himself interrogated the wet-nurse. The woman swore up and down she left Jon with another servant when she went to use the washroom. Neither that servant nor the guard that was supposed to be before the doors were found since the incident.

Rhaegar gives another sigh.“ I guess we will know more after Arthur conducts his investigation.“ None of the Kingsguard were present in the Maidenvault, having to tend to the large surge of guests in the Great Hall. But then, Rhaegar never expected he would need his knights to protect one of his children against the other.

 „Do you think someone might have done it on purpose?“ Lyanna asks; she turns her eyes toward him, frowning.

 „'Tis doubtful, my love.“ Rhaegar says. „No one could have predicted what happened, let alone planned for it. Most likely, it was an accident.“ It was the most probable explanation, yet Rhaegar disliked the fact both the servant and the guard disappeared.

„Then why do we need an investigation?“ She inquires further, still not convinced. 

„'Tis for safety, more than anything else, my love.“ Rhaegar returns. Seeing she was still worried, he leans in, brushes his lips against her brow. „No matter what, I will assure nothing similar ever happens again. I promise you.“ It was a vow he intended to keep.

* * *

 

„Your Grace, Lord Varys is here.“ Arthur calls, his voice reverberating and reaching Rhaegar from the bottom of the steps of the Iron Throne.

For appearances, Rhaegar began making use out of the Throne room for his audiences. The throne itself had been uncomfortable, but he supposed not much more than the crown was heavy. Just as well, Rhaegar did not intend to allow his desires of guiding his kingdoms responsibly to fade away. He would take the discomfort as a reminder of the severity of his position.

„Send him in.“ Rhaegar calls back.

Not a moment later, a plump, silk-wrapped shadow creeps over the black marble that paved the room, its steps soundless. Rhaegar supposed it was appropriate, for a spy to have a silent presence.

„Your Grace.“ The man's smooth voice says, his head lowers in a polite greeting. Rhaegar held a sort of tentative respect for the man, at the very least he admired his ability of climbing the ranks so fast with no name or land to fall back on. Yet, skill hadn't been everything; intentions perhaps mattered even more and this was something Rhaegar needed to further explore, if he was to put his trust in the Spider.

„Lord Varys.“ Rhaegar addresses the man. „I appreciate you answering my summon.“

„'Tis of no mention,Your Grace.“ Varys returns humbly, his hands folded. „I serve the crown, and can only be glad to be of help.“

„About that.“ Rhaegar says, gazing to his side for an instant in thought. He decides on being straightforward, for the Spider would surely see through any scheme and Rhaegar did not enjoy them either. „I understand it were your words that sent my father after the Knight of the Laughing Tree, even after he had long forgotten about the affair himself.“

This was a matter that Rhaegar could not forget without certain clarifications in place. After all, it were the Spider's whispers that put Lyanna in danger, and, it was rumored, worsened his own relationship to his late father. If he was to accept the man by his side, he would need an adequate explanation for his past behavior.

„Your statement is close to true, Your Grace.“ Varys returns. „It was my advice that finally prompted the late king into taking action. However, he had become newly interested in the matter after receiving an anonymous note, and a pair of metal gauntlets, which prompted him to seek my advice.“

„I see.“ Rhaegar murmurs. „And would you be comfortable confirming that the mentioned anonymous note had not been your doing?“

„I would, Your Grace.“ The Spider immediately retorts. „However, it is understandable if you cannot take my word for it. If I daresay, there is very little that can earn me your trust other than time.“

Rhaegar gives a nod. „I agree.“ he says. „Yet, your words matter to me as well. I wish to know why did you suggest to my father what you did? What did you intend to accomplish?“ The obvious explanation was that, noting his own affection for Lyanna, the Spider hoped to coax him into acting against his own father, thus bringing the mad dragon's wrath upon himself. Something Rhaegar in part truly did.

„I wished no harm on Lady Lyanna, our now queen, if that is Your Grace's suggestion.“ Varys returns in a smooth voice, shining black eyes looking up. „The king did not intend to inflict any either. It was merely a ploy I suggested in order to delay Lady Lyanna's marriage to Lord Robert Baratheon, thus delaying the alliance between Winterfell and Storm's End. Your father believed several of the high lords, including Lord Robert were conspiring against him.“

„I assume you affirmed those suspicions.“ Rhaegar says.

„I did, Your Grace.“ Varys folds his white-powered hands effeminately. „I beg of you not to hold it against me, I simply did the task assigned to me by the king. With the same dedication I hope to serve you as well.“

Rhaegar gave a little smirk. „We shall see about that.“

„If you allow me, Your Grace,“ Varys says then. „I would have a present for you. Something my skills allowed me to acquire and something I believe might hold worth for you.“

„You cannot buy my trust with trinkets, Lord Varys, I would hope that would be clear to a man such as yourself.“ Rhaegar says in return. He still remembered all the efforts around Harrenhal going to waste, the tourney he organized with Lord Whent. The fact the Mad King had a reputation of being secluded ever since the Defiance of Duskendale did not prevent him from attending. It was as if he knew how Rhaegar intended to use the presence of all high lords in one place. And if he knew, Varys' own involvement was a self-imposed conclusion. Knowledge, especially of well-kept secrets was his trade.

„I assure you, this is no trinket, My King.“ Varys assures with a soft smile on his plump face. With a barely noticeable tilt of his head, two men come into view, carrying between themselves a heavy-looking wooden trunk. Arthur was the first one to take a look, for safety reasons before the trunk was brought before Rhaegar and its contents fully displayed in the light of day.

A gasp escaped him as his eyes fell on the three large, fossilized dragon eggs, one deep green, one cream, and one pitch black, all magnificent in their rich colors and shiny scales. All three large and heavy enough that one needed both hands to support them. They were a true rarity, priceless possessions even disregarding the fact no one had been able to hatch them since the disappearance of dragons. The Tragedy of Summerhall, his ancestors' last attempt to do so ended with loss of life and a magnificent castle in ruins. Rhaegar loved and frequented that place, deeming its beautiful energy much came from the effects of that magical, yet tragic event. The dragon eggs involved in that attempt were mysteriously lost, and Rhaegar wondered if those were those same eggs.

„How did you get this?“ Asks Rhaegar breathless, although he knew better than to expect a straightforward answer.

„I have my ways, Your Grace.“ Varys smoothly returns, smirking. „I reckon you enjoy the present.“

 

 


	62. A Wolf and a Trout

Today was Catelyn's last day in King's Landing.

Learning of her Lord Father's plans to travel South for the king's coronation, it took her no more than a couple of seconds to conclude Brandon Stark, her betrothed, would be present for the event as well. Thinking on it, Catelyn found her heart beating just a twinge faster, and her cheeks warming; emboldened by these feelings, she immediately insisted on accompanying her Lord Father on this journey. This desire of hers was granted, and Catelyn was soon eagerly counting the days on the road, longing for a glimpse of her handsome betrothed.

She thought of his strong jaw, of his striking, intense grey eyes, and in her more bold moments, of his tall body, rippling with muscle. All of it sent pleasant shivers down her spine, and color to her cheeks.

Sitting at the coronation feast, Catelyn remembered on more than one occasion leaning to one of her companions, not able to help herself but express her adoration of him in some way. They would giggle in return, and indulge her by agreeing, when they didn't fawn over the king's unusual but quite appealing Valyrian looks, or sighed after the absence of a Stormlord. Robert Baratheon was the one who was widely regarded as every maiden's fantasy after all, though Catelyn wished to disagree. It seemed Lyanna did as well...

She wondered at this, remembering the utter concern taking over her father's castle after Lyanna's disappearance on the green plains of Riverrun. The involvement of then prince Rhaegar was implied, though not confirmed, and Catelyn remembered herself trembling with fear at the thought of Brandon facing the Mad King, demanding his sister be returned to him.

Then, after all the worries, it turned out Lyanna had run on her own account, blatantly disrespecting her father and putting her brother in danger. It seemed so unlikely; the darling Northern girl she'd met had seemed fierce and unwaveringly loyal, not like some silly girl ready to lift her skirts for a man just for he was a handsome prince. It had been shocking and disappointing for her to learn it was not so. As someone with great appreciation for obedience and virtue, Catelyn found herself judging her actions. After all, every lady was to expect bending to her father's wishes when it came to her choices in marriage. She herself had been no exception; Catelyn, not able to imagine her father working to her harm, accepted her betrothed with tentative eagerness even before being acquainted with him. It was only once they met, that what started as duty for Catelyn became her greatest desire.

For her, Brandon had been perfect, and every day they spent unmarried was a day lost in her mind. Catelyn wished to be his lady wife, anticipated to be his lover, his companion, the mother of his children, yet her longings were shattered with a single sentence from her Lord Father.

„Lord Brandon is no longer the Lord of Winterfell.“ he told her first. Catelyn was certainly taken aback by the news, yet, though she could not deny that the position of Lady of Winterfell held appeal to her, it was one she could do without. „You will not be marrying him.“ Her Lord Father said then, and it was in that moment that Catelyn's throat constricted and her heart turned to stone.

„Who will I be marrying, then?“ She remembered herself asking over the tears forming in her throat. Even if Catelyn was crushed, propriety stopped her from expressing her anguish. _No one_ , she wished for her lord father to say. If she could not have Brandon, she would rather stay alone for the rest of her life. In her mind, no one could ever come even close, and Catelyn would prefer the memory of him to any other man in flesh.

„Lord Eddard.“ Her father had said, and it was then the first time that Catelyn dreaded the idea of marrying a Stark.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn was sitting on the bed in the room assigned to her, lamenting her fate, when a servant knocked on her doors. She touched her handkerchief to her nose (she was doing much of that lately), before beckoning the girl in.

„M'lady.“ The thin girl curtsied. „You've an invitation from her grace the queen.“

_The queen?_

Lyanna was the last person Catelyn expected, or even wished to see. Yet, a summon from one in the royal family was not to be denied, no matter how distasteful she found them.

„Very well.“ Catelyn says. „You can let the queen know I will be there shortly.“

 

* * *

 

Once she is beckoned in, Catelyn takes a moment to study the queen's antechamber, but finds no object to hold as much interest to her as the woman rising from the sofa at the center of it. She is of a half mind to curtsey, offer a kind word as insincere it would be, but she is swiftly prevented. Just as she moves to bend her knees and pay her respects, Lyanna's hands on her elbows do not allow her the movement.

„By the Gods!“ The queen croons delightfully, now moving to hold her limp hands. „Catelyn, I am beyond joyful to see you again. It had been quite long, hadn't it?“  

Before Catelyn has a chance to respond, Lyanna leans in and kisses both her cheeks, then gives her a smile.  „Come now, I've been expecting you.“

She keeps talking as she makes brisk strides to the other side of her antechambers. „I must confess to you, I find your presence quite refreshing compared to the rest of the court. We are to be family after all, and family is no small matter to me.“ _It doesn't seem that way._ Catelyn thinks cruelly. After all, Lyanna was the last person to talk about family, she'd betrayed her own. Though no casualties suffered on account of her actions, it could have just as easily not been so.

She is snapped out of her thoughts when the queen gives a doleful sigh, like she reminded herself of something uncomfortable. „Though perhaps not in the way either of us hoped for it to happen.“

Both women take a seat at the nearby sofa, though Catelyn makes sure to keep her distance at the end of it. She looks down, folding her skirts before a soft mewling noise distracts her. She'd almost forgotten about the little prince, who is now in a crib at Lyanna's feet, giggling sweetly with her gentle touch on his chest.

„My dearest, be kind, we have a guest.“ She hears her softly telling the child, soothing him, smiling at him kindly all the while. _At least she loved her son._

She keeps cooing to the child, letting him grasp her hand with his own tiny one, and Catelyn takes a moment to observe her.

 From this distance, the queen is a fair sight much like from any other, but it is something else that catches her eye. She would never have thought her a wife, much less a mother, not with her lean figure and wide eyes, that paired together much made her seem like she was still a girl herself. Of course, not just any girl, for Lyanna's features still held the classical dignified expression of the Starks, as undignified as her actions were. A wolf-pup growing into a she-wolf, perhaps, was the best way to describe her. The only thing different from the last time Catelyn had seen her was that her curls were shortened now, but such a thing made her look even younger than she was. She was young in any case; Catelyn had been her senior and still very much a maiden.

„Catelyn.“ It is her husky voice that calls for her attention, and Catelyn flinches, startled. She offers a nervous smile. „Forgive me, your grace.“

 „You forgive me.“ Lyanna says in return, making her quite wonder for what. The queen certainly had her follies and deserving apologies to make, but none of those follies were toward her.

 Lyanna continues talking. „I tried to stop Brandon from doing what he wished to do, I truly did. I fought for your betrothal too, as much as I could, but I am afraid both our stubbornness comes from the same source.“ Lyanna sighs with the thought, then moves to take her hands, her own touch gentle and warm. „How are you doing, Catelyn? Tell me.“

Catelyn almost took a breath to lament, before she remembered who she spoke to. A queen was expected to show concern, though she would not put it past Lyanna to be oblivious of that fact. Her concern seeming genuine was what perhaps made it harder on Catelyn; after all, no one else had asked her that question, not even her father. He had given her the news in a plain fashion, and left her to her own devices, much counting on her maturity to do the rest. Yet, maturity felt like such a fickle thing in wake of a broken heart.

„I...I was unpleasantly surprised by this.“ Catelyn finally says, though still choosing her words. „I truly...I held great admiration for your eldest brother.“ Catelyn loved him, though she never admitted it to him. She always thought there would be time, and now she would never get to tell him how she felt about him.

Lyanna gives her an empathetic smile. „You loved him, didn't you? It is alright if you did. And it is alright to grieve.“

Catelyn nodded numbly, all the while wondering where had she gone wrong, what had she done to anger the New Gods so. This entire matter seemed profoundly unjust, and for the first time, Catelyn found herself doubting the gods' vision for her own life. She soon realized these were both weak and brazen thoughts, and concentrated on considering her own faults. Perhaps her faulty actions had not been one of hand but one of mind, perhaps it was not the judgement of gods that was harsh but her own. Catelyn had more than once wished disgrace on Lyanna, deeply repelled by her choice of taking matters into her own hands. After all, she believed in the wisdom of her seniors more than her own, she was taught to do so. Lyanna was taught to do so as well and yet...

As morbid as the thought felt, by killing Princess Elia, gods Old and New rewarded Lyanna for her actions. Her mindless bravery had not been her downfall; on the contrary, it had afforded her everything a woman could dream of – both a life by the side of the man she loved, and queenship. At the time of her running, she could have expected to go from a highborn lady to a highly despised mistress of the prince at best, a living example of what happens to a woman who defies order. Yet, she took that leap of faith. She followed her heart and destiny followed suit. Catelyn, on the other hand,  did everything she was supposed to do. She bowed her head at all the right times, trusted her father's judgement,  and found joy in the betrothal she had no choice in. Yet, the gods laughed at her for it, and took it all away as fast as they've given it.

 „I do not want to marry anyone else.“ Catelyn finds herself tearfully confessing. „I especially do not want to marry his brother. Lyanna, what do I do?“ Perhaps this inquiry had been brazen,  especially given her own thoughts on what Lyanna did when her fate did not smile at her. Yet, Catelyn needed someone, anyone, to tell her to do anything but endure that which is given to her. She had done everything right, and her destiny punished her for it. She was no longer willing to be idle. Yet, it seemed that was exactly what Lyanna would recommend.

„Listen, Catelyn...“Lyanna leaned to meet her eye. Her grey gaze was so kind and sympathetic, and most of all, _familiar_ to Catelyn, that she did not dare look away. „I shall tell you a story. A couple of years ago, when we were all younger, Brandon and Ned and I, Ned came home one day from the Eyrie where he was fostered. The next day Brandon went out riding from morning  till sundown, and our father had been busy with some task on the castle grounds, so Ned and Benjen and I were left in the castle itself. Not soon after, a servant came, said that some poor girl was at the front gates with a babe at her breast, demanding to speak to Brandon. The servant said the girl did not wish to leave despite them telling her he was not there, and asked if they should get our father. At that time, I barely understood the connection, and Benjen even less, but Ned did. He told them not to bother our Lord Father, and went out and gave the girl enough golden dragons for her to take care of her babe for years.“

„Why are you telling me this?“ Catelyn asks, cautious. „The babe...was it Brandon's?“ She looked down into the folds of her skirts.

„Our father was furious.“ Lyanna continues, ignoring her question. „He asked us what had we done with all that coin, and we were just about to confess when Brandon returned home drunk. Ned then saved us, telling father that Brandon gambled it all away...and Brandon was not sober enough to deny it.“ Lyanna gave a sad smile then, like at a memory. „Only later did I realize that Ned would have taken the blame on himself, had only our father been likely to believe it. Yet, he knew Father's wrath would come and pass over some coin, but his disappointment over Brandon's behavior would not.“

„Why are you telling me this?“ Asked Catelyn, mystified with the message of the story as much as she was with its contents.

 „I am telling you this for you to know that Ned is a good man. A better man, out of the two of them, no doubt about it. Gods forgive me, I love them both more than my lifesblood, but 'tis the truth, and truth should not be denied.“


	63. Of Babes and Dragons

„Your Grace.“ The call comes from a familiar voice; when Rhaegar turns around, Jon Connington offers him a quick, shallow bow.

„Walk with me.“ Rhaegar invites in return.

„Thank you, Your Grace.“ Jon returns, then settles into an appropriate pace.

It is not long before the two men breach the length of the last hall and are lead outside into the gardens. Finding his back sore from sitting behind his desk all day, Rhaegar intended to make this trip himself, or even see if Lyanna would join him. Perhaps they would even see her outside; while Lyanna was not largely thrilled with the gardens, lately she spent much time there with Jon, liking for him to go out for a breath of fresh air.

The man beside him clears his throat. „I meant to ask you, Your Grace, I pray Her Grace is of good health.“

Rhaegar felt his forehead frown; it had been odd for his Lord Hand to inquire of her well-being. „The queen is remarkably healthy.“ He finally returns, deciding not to think much of it. „How did the meeting of the Small Council go?“ He asks in return. Rhaegar himself had not attended, choosing to go over some last received correspondence in private instead. The task had however been void, for the one letter he hoped for was not present in the pile.

„Rather usually, except for certain matters that have been newly brought up, Your Grace.“ Jon says. 

„And which matters would those be?“ Rhaegar prompts. Considering his knowledge of him, he already found himself disconcerted with Jon's tone.

„Well for one, the Queen Dowager's letter had been mentioned, and the soon birth of another potential heir to your dynasty. That had started the meeting on a positive enough note, until Pycelle found it fit to speak up.“

„Pycelle?“ Rhaegar inquires cautiously.

„Aye, that old fool.“ Jon grumbles. „Your Grace, why didn't you tell me?“ He asks then. „I should have known.“

Rhaegar frowns. „Tell you what?“ He asks, though he had a feeling he knew what it was that Jon referred to.

„About the matter of the queen's womb. Now Pycelle brought it up before the entire council, and I had no idea how to direct the conversation.“

Rhaegar sighs. „I didn't tell you, for that is something between me and her. Besides, we do not know that for certain...“

„Pycelle says she is barren, he himself had examined her.“ Jon counters. „And, if you would forgive me, you know better than that, Your Grace. Perhaps another woman might have the privilege of privacy in this matter, but not the queen. It is her children who are the future of this realm, and therefore her womb one of the few matters of great importance when it comes to your reign.“

Rhaegar said little in return. He hated it, hated discussing this matter, having it on display so, even before Jon. There were few matters that were emotional to him as the topic of her, and he did not wish to have his council argue over their delicate family matters as if they were a matter of gold counting or war. Especially since he knew that in situations like this, it were the queens who suffered the greatest impact of the realm's dissatisfaction. As if it were something she could consciously amend.

„You have one son, Your Grace.“ Jon continues. „A single son. While I wish him a long and prosperous life, what happens if something happens to Prince Jon? You know from experience that 'tis not always that princes live long enough to become kings. You would be heirless.“

„There is Viserys. And Rhaenys.“ Rhaegar states. He had mulled over this matter earlier, and decided that was all the safety he needed in the matter. „And, presumably, there is the child my mother is about to birth.“

„Another possible girl.“ Jon reminds him.

„A child. Of Targaryen blood.“ Rhaegar counters, with more fire this time. „Need I remind you that my dynasty had at least twice the queens as it did kings? Aegon the Conqueror himself had two of his sister-wives by his side, and questionable would his conquest be without them.“

„Rhaenys and Visenya?“ Jon snorts. „Two glorified consorts. I must say, I wouldn't take you for someone to minimize your ancestor's successes, Your Grace. Aegon the Conqueror is the one who bears the proper title, after all.“

Rhaegar wondered if Jon would speak that way had Visenya been before him. „Yet, it was Dark Sister in Visenya's hands that saved Aegon the Conqueror's life when it very well could have ended. And it was she who founded the first Kingsguard. She was more than a consort.“

„Perhaps she was.“ Jon allows. „But those times are gone. There are no more warrior queens. Queens command no respect other than through their womb. And kings find their rules weakened by their failure in giving heirs.“

„You might as well stop there,“ Rhaegar warns. „Unless you wish to suggest once again for me to take another wife. Gods be good, Jon, I do not know whether to be glad or saddened that you do not have one. If you did, you would know matters aren't that simple.“

„I am simply looking out for your interests, Your Grace.“ Jon murmurs, somewhat humbled. „Onto another topic then. What will you do about Dorne?“

Just when Rhaegar took a breath to respond, he fell distracted by a known sound, and the matter at hand materialized itself before his eyes.

There she was, Rhaenys, giggling with such joyous reflection to her voice that Rhaegar could not remember hearing in a long time. Before her, a taller girl stood, her bright smile shone in the midst of dark skin and oily dark curls. It was her older cousin, Arianne, Prince Doran's firstborn child and therefore the heiress to Sunspear. Rhaegar was not aware she had accompanied her uncle on his journey. 

„Your Grace?“ Jon mumbles with confusion, coming to a halt in his own steps.

„Yes.“ Rhaegar finally says. The two men take a turn within the garden maze, but not before Rhaegar sent another glance in his daughter's direction.

* * *

 

With a soft knock on the door, Lyanna's head snaps up. Her servants were instructed to be more quiet in their approaches, for more often than not, Jon slept on this side of the door. Even now he did, and Lyanna made sure to quiet any fussing and lull him back to sleep, as his rare moments of crankiness coincided with him being forcefully awakened.

„Your Grace.“ The servant girl quietly addresses her. „There are news. The Dowager Queen is spoken to be in labor right this instant on Dragonstone. The whole castle is excited for the news of birth.“ The girl herself seemed thrilled, with a spark in her large eyes and a comely blush upon her cheeks, thus Lyanna herself was provoked into a smile.

„Gods be good, had it been that long?“ Lyanna felt it was just yesterday that the queen even left. Time seemed a somewhat warped affair for her lately, likely for the change of pace her own life had taken.

The girl only gave an eager nod before she departed. _Gods, it truly had been that long._ Lyanna's smile soon faltered with the realization as she looked upon her own babe, her little Jon, sleeping in arms. He seemed to be growing different every day, yet the change could decisively take only one direction. His skin tone was already one of fairest ivory and his dark locks were growing in, almost making Lyanna feel like she was looking into a mirror. Though this fact often brought her joy, now confronted with the sight of it, Lyanna found an ugly and unfamiliar feeling bubble up inside her  – jealousy.

In the past, Lyanna never dwelled too much upon the subject; yet, in the back of her mind, there was always the expectation that she would have a fair number of children. Lyanna even resented that fact, back when those children were assumed to be born off of duty, rather than love. Yet, she wanted another little babe, perhaps a silver one, a silver girl or even if not it would hardly matter... Regardless of her desires, Lyanna could not have it, and perhaps that was in part the queen's doing.

But Lyanna could not be so cruel, to find misery in another's joy. After all, queen Rhaella's own laments were known to her, the woman had carried many children in her womb, and only birthed two in return. For all her pains, she deserved the joy of another, a little babe with shining silver tufts of hair on its little head and deep indigo eyes just like Rhaegar's – Lyanna's own faraway dream at times.  Prince or princess, Lyanna was sure that the child would be stunning; after all, the world was yet to hear of an uncomely Targaryen. Even the Mad King was spoken to be handsome in his youth, his appearance only eroding alongside his mind.

Lyanna could already imagine herself spoiling the child to death given half the chance. Jon's little aunt or uncle, though due to age closeness, more of a cousin...

Another knock on the doors interrupts the silence; hearing it, Lyanna quickly wiped at the corners of her eyes for any possible trace of tears.

„There are some men before the doors, Your Grace.“ The servant girl says. „They claim a wooden trunk is to be delivered into your chambers, under the king's orders.“

 _Rhaegar's orders?_ Lyanna muses internally. _What could it possibly be?_

„Very well. You can send them in.“ She said quietly in return, wary of awaking her little Jon in arms. Yet, his grey eyes opened wide still, but beside the softest mewl, no other sounds of discomfort escaped him.

Lyanna rises from the bed with him in arms, rocking him slightly as the men worked to angle the wooden contraption into the room. Once they were finished, Lyanna nodded to the servant and soon enough, she and Jon are left alone in the room once more.

„Come here, my little Jon.“ She cooed to him. „Let us see what gift have we received.“

The lid was left flipped up, and thus, the contents of the box were immediately visible. It had been a pitch black dragon egg, Lyanna barely decided, for no living animal known to her could produce an egg of that size, or with such scales. As fascinated as she had been with the object, Jon seemed even more, as he turned his head away from her and strained his neck to curiously look to the egg.

„Do you wish to play with it?“ Lyanna asked. She didn't truly expect an answer, but Jon turned his gaze to her nonetheless, and blinked his serious, deep eyes, as if to say _yes, please_.

„Very well, my dearest.“ It was the oddest thing; Lyanna often felt like she lead conversations with her little son, for his reactions to her voice always seemed so timed and appropriate. Granted, such an impression certainly had to do with the fact she was his mother after all, and spent much time with him; even if Lyanna at times felt there was something more to it than that, she would quickly brush off the thought as her own silliness.

Lyanna walked back to bed, and carefully deposited Jon in the midst of sheets, until she went to retrieve the egg. She carefully ran her fingers over the edges of the cold scales, trying to determine if they were too sharp before letting Jon touch to them. It had been heavy in her hands, preserved in stone, thus Lyanna laid it in the sheets next to Jon, and with curiosity waited to see how he would react. Though most babes prefered moving objects, it seemed anything could capture Jon's attention, from regular toys to dark book covers, and Lyanna often felt like he saw things in the way other people could not.

Even now, the dragon egg had Jon's interest as he extended his little arms forward, gazing upon it as if transfixed.

* * *

 

Lyanna sat situated in bed, her legs beneath her. She had already sent Jon away for the night, entrusting him to the wet-nurse in hopes of having some time to her husband and herself. Yet, there had been no trace of the mentioned husband, at least until now, when he quietly entered. In a manner uncharacteristic for himself, Rhaegar ignored her as he set on unbuttoning his doublet, removing the top garment and then moving to his cuffs. He had already rid himself of all clothing with the exception of his trousers, yet not a single word went spoken.

„How was your day?“ Lyanna heard herself sheepishly ask. She quietly cleared her throat then; it seemed that her voice had become hoarse, given the scarce words she had exchanged with anyone else today.

Her speaking seemed to remind Rhaegar of her presence, and it appears for a moment that the masked expression over his face cracks. He gives a weary sigh, then walks over to her bedside.

As he presses her body into his, his lips brush against her head.

„Forgive me, my love.“ He murmurs into her hair. „I am just distracted, is all. I would rather not speak on it.“

Pulling back, Lyanna was just about to remind him they promised there would be no lies or secrets of any kind, but the expression on his face halts her in this intention. 

How was your day?“ He asks instead, and already his dark indigo eyes seem to shine with a fresh spark. Lyanna lets her fingers twist into the silver tresses at the nape of his neck, and answers.

„It went quite well. A tad boring, but I must admit the dragon egg you sent down was no little surprise. Jon seemed to love it so, I couldn't get him to keep his little hands off it.“

„Now, is that right?“ Rhaegar asks, he himself smiling. He had send the dragon egg down for that exact purpose; after all, even if the dragons were gone, they were an important part of their history and Rhaegar always wanted for his children to know it. After being presented with the dragon eggs himself, his mind could not help but linger on the exact number of them. The dragon was to have three heads, after all, yet Rhaegar's own math did not add up.

At first, he naturally assumed it would be his children, but though he did have three children over the years, Aegon had died even before Jon was born. When Rhaegar counted in his siblings as well, there was one too many, and without them, there was one too few. Over the years, he learned prophecies carried meanings, but these meanings were at times hard to discern. The arguably largest, most important piece of it had been Jon, and Rhaegar's mind was set largely at ease for this.

Now, it was his son's mother who occupied his mind like she so often did, thus Rhaegar sat on the bed, and pulled her onto his lap. She immediately came to straddle him and Rhaegar cradled her hard thighs, drawing her even closer.

„What is it with the dragon eggs and babes, anyway?“ She asks with a little frown, though notably more satisfied now that she was on his lap.

„Well,“ Rhaegar begins his story. „Back in the olden days of my family's reign, while dragons were still alive, there existed a custom of gifting every newborn Targaryen babe with a dragon egg. The dragon egg would be considered the child's first toy, its first true possession. It was held that if the dragon egg hatches, while in cradle with the babe, the child would grow up to be that dragon's rider.“

„Uh hm.“ Lyanna mumbles in return, then she returns to her task, pressing taunting kisses alongside his jawline.

Rhaegar pulls away to meet her eye. „You are not very interested in this story, are you?“ He frowns as he asks this.

Lyanna laughs before she retorts. „What gave me away?“

„This.“ He demonstrates by stealing a soft kiss from her bottom lip. Lyanna lets out a low moan, in heaven with the feel of his lips over hers. „Or this.“ She sighs when he releases her, but it doesn't last long; soon his hand finds purchase between her legs, where she was already wet, and needing him.

„Oh,“ Lyanna moans as she kisses him again, grins against his lips. This was her favorite thing in the entire word, having him below her, teasing her so.

„You know, I am sort of glad 'tis but a dragon egg preserved in stone.“ She then murmurs against his lips. „If it were a true one, and a dragon was to hatch from it, I am afraid I would be forced to abandon you and run North for my bare life. After all, dragons do not take kindly to humans who do not bear Valyrian blood. 'Tis perhaps why your ancestors insisted on marrying their sisters, they feared their dragon would eat their bride as dinner otherwise.“

Rhaegar gives a small chuckle at this, enchanted by the theory. „Perhaps, my lady knight.“ He says, now moving to place a kiss alongside the lovely column of her neck. Immediately, the fragrance that lingers there, paired with the little gasp she gives caused a stir in his loins. It was usually she who was inpatient, begging for him so sweetly to cease torturing her, but in this moment, their roles appear reversed.

Exercising restraint yet still, Rhaegar pulled back to look at Lyanna. Her cheeks seem flushed and her eyes gloss over, suggesting he wasn't the only one affected by this. He, perhaps in an effort to make her protest, says. „Though, I must say, I did not take you for one to run from danger. Where is the brave she-wolf I met at Harrenhal, knocking down both knights and my heart with her lance?“  

„In your bed, or rather, you are in hers.“ Lyanna quips, then slightly bites down on his lower lip in proof of her point. „Though, _I_ must say...“ she starts, mocking him but he does not mind one bit. „Bravery and stupidity often go hand in hand, and sometimes are hard to distinguish from one another. I'd reckon the sight of a horribly large, fire-spewing creature would be justifiable cause for concern, even for the bravest of men and women.“

 „For most men and women, perhaps.“ Rhaegar allows. „Yet, you my love, would never have any cause for concern, at least not of dragons.“ He lets his hand touch to the side of her face, and Lyanna leans in, like a little she-wolf glad to have her fur stroked. She keeps looking to him wide-eyed, in expectation of further response. „While dragons are possessive creatures, as well as almighty and powerful enough to defeat any enemy, they are as fiercely devoted to their rider. They would never inflict harm on him or any of his loved ones.“

She gives a little hum at this, and nuzzles against him. „In that case...“ she says, „I might just be glad I have one of my own.“ With these words, she kisses him fiercely, leaving him with little Rhaegar could or wanted to do to keep from complying.

 


	64. The Sun and the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! (for this chapter and a couple of recent ones, too).

The morning meeting of the Council had been disastrous, mildly speaking.

Rhaegar found himself inclined to throw everyone out, if only to earn himself some silence. The lords bickered amongst themselves over petty matters, when they weren't busy enough flattering him, or needlessly sending insults Dorne's way, something Rhaegar found thoroughly counterproductive.

„Leave us.“ He hissed behind gritted teeth and many a lord scrambled out of the meeting hall, leaving him on one end of the table, and Prince Oberyn on another.

„What is it that you want, Prince Oberyn?“ Rhaegar asked with a sigh, seeing little point in going about the matter any longer.

„I fear you misunderstand me, Your Grace, much like your lords do.“ The Red Viper returns softly, his dark eyes lingering upon Rhaegar's own features. „Dorne has no desire for vengeance. Only respect. Respect and family.“

„You have my respect.“ Rhaegar assures. „I am giving my best efforts toward solving this situation in a manner best for everyone.“

„Where was your respect when Elia was alive, Your Grace?“ Oberyn returns in accusation. „Did she not perform to you as your wife, as your princess? Did she not give you two children? What had she done, or failed to do that you would deprave her and her children of your presence, and thus your protection? You left her alone in the Mad King's castle. You may not have been able to predict the consequences, but 'tis your inaction...“

„I  would if I could make it right.“ Rhaegar returns through gritted teeth. Gods, and how he would. There was one thing Oberyn was right about, and that was the fact this was never about Elia, yet she was the one who happened to suffer for it. At the time, Rhaegar's mind was occupied with other things, and Elia much too often felt as an afterthought, if that much at all. „But I cannot change the past. The most I can do now is offer you my regrets, but I somehow doubt that is something you would be interested in.“

„On the contrary, Your Grace.“ Oberyn returns, as quick as a whip. „ You can offer so much more. You can offer to do right by the daughter if not by the mother. Nothing you do will bring Elia back, I am aware of that, but it is my niece's well-being that I seek to look after.“

„Do you not believe I would only want the best for my own daughter, my lord?“ Rhaegar asks, narrowing his eyes. „Do you believe I would bear to see her harmed? If you wish after Rhaenys' well-being, then we are on the same side here...“

„See, I have a problem believing that, Your Grace.“ Oberyn returns. „'Tis not your intentions that I doubt; after all, I am a father as well, and only of daughters, as it so happens. I just fear the circumstances are such that you simply are in no position to offer her here everything she would have in Dorne.“ Rhaegar took a breath to speak, but Oberyn continued. „She will never be home here, Your Grace. She will never look around in this place and see a face akin to her own. Her mother is dead, her brother is dead, and now she has another one, birthed by a different woman than which gave birth to herself. A woman your devotion to is apparent to every man, woman and child, in a way a lot of other things are not. Do you want her to live her life looking at you loving a woman who is not her mother, growing up by a brother who is only half her blood and feel like she belongs?“

It was true, Rhaegar could not deny it, his daughter took very little after him, whether in terms of demeanor or looks. At times, the silently indignant expression on her face was reminiscent of Elia's and _her_ dark eyes would seem to blame him through their daughter. It was something Rhaegar found morbidly strange; he'd given more thought to Elia in death than life. In life, she'd simply been the woman his father had settled on marrying him to, another dire manifestation of his princely duty, and though Rhaegar tried his best to be civil, he could not feign interest. They were little more than acquaintances who happened to share two children and an official marriage bond. And yet, Elia had fulfilled her role as a mother, while Rhaegar failed in his own as his family's protector. Love or not, that much was true.

With Lyanna, it was much the opposite; the love was unequivocally there, and forms and contracts were largely irrelevant. Yet, Rhaegar feared making the same mistake again.

 „So you wish for me to believe this is your only motivation?“ Rhaegar inquires cautiously. „That you only look after her well-being, and that you have no intention in pinning my children against each other to fight for the Iron Throne when the time comes?“

Oberyn smirks. „If that was the case, you would already know of it, Your Grace. We accepted your marriage to Lady Lyanna, we acknowledged the legitimacy of Prince Jon. We do not want bloodshed. If we did, you would be up to your neck in Faith disagreements and lords bitter they could never take another wife when all you need to do is say a couple of words before a weirwood tree and get yourself another. Or even, Robert Baratheon would be getting himself an unlikely allegiance, and perhaps his anger would be coming to a long-awaited boil. Yet, I sit here before you in peace, Your Grace.“

 

* * *

 

„Papa!“ Rhaenys cries to him excitedly. It was a much more enthusiastic response than he happened to receive lately, for sure. Rhaegar smiles as his daughter drops her toys and runs to him, soon to be easily picked up and snuggled in his arms.

Only once her smiling, round child face is in line with his does he notice the orange ribbon in her hair. It was one that seemed to poorly match the rest of her attire, a red dress with a black outline, and polished black shoes.

„This seems like something new.“ Rhaegar remarks, examining the edge of the silky, orange ribbon between his fingers.

„Arianne gave it to me.“ Rhaenys replies sweetly, seeming quite contended with the gift herself. Indeed, his daughter's cousin could often be seen in the hallways wearing orange or yellow attire, the colors reminiscent of her home, and her house.

„You get along fairly well with your cousin, don't you?“ Rhaegar asks. He could not help but take notice of the fact his daughter was of a much fairier mood ever since she found a playmate in Prince Doran's daughter. Even now, her dark eyes shone with a fresh spark and her lips were curled into a smile rather a pout, as they had often been as of late. A sight Rhaegar feared he was getting accustomed to.

Rhaenys offers an eager nod, but then, her dark eyes lower with discontentment. Noting it, Rhaegar immediately asked. „What is it, my darling?“

„Papa, must you send her away?“ She laments in her child voice, frowning. „I want her to stay here. I will be a good girl, I promise, if you let her stay here.“

Rhaegar offered his daughter a solemn smile. „I am afraid 'tis not up to me, my darling. Arianne has her own castle and homeland, much like you do. She must return home at some point.“

The home of Elia herself, Rhaegar recalled. A faint memory swam up in his mind, of the day of Elia's arrival to King's Landing. He remembered patiently standing at his post as his father the king had instructed, his back straight, expecting her arrival into the Red Keep itself. As she left the carriages, he recalled noting her olive skin, her oily dark locks, and most of all, a sort of gaunt tiredness to her face. She spoke little and smiled even less, yet there was a sort of a silent quality in her dark gaze, one that seemed to wordlessly scold the world for its moral imperfections, and the way they affected her. Indeed, had life been fair, Rhaegar would have fallen in love with his intended at first sight, yet he remembered feeling very little. Something that time could not change, he supposed.

 „But uncle Oberyn says her home is mine as well.“ Rhaenys' thin voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

„It is, my darling, you have a home there as well.“ Rhaegar confirms. „Dorne is your mother's homeland and Sunspear the residence of her family. I do not doubt your uncles would always deem you welcome there.“ Perhaps even too welcome, but, Rhaegar wasn't yet certain how to resolve that situation. Not surprisingly, his advisors hadn't been in agreement over it either. Jon was profoundly against it, claiming the Martells must have an ulterior motive; that if he complied with their requests, he would have a repeat of the Dance of Dragons on his hands. Arthur was less skeptical of Prince Doran's intentions, while also having more intimate knowledge of the man given he was his liege lord. And the conversation with Oberyn was unsettling in its own way.

„Uncle Oberyn also says I could live there as well, if I ask you nicely.“

Rhaegar frowned. „Is that something that you would want, my Rhaenys?“ He was less than surprised by Prince Oberyn providing such influence; yet, his only daughter inquiring of the option still wounded him. Did she not wish to stay here, be by her father's side? He knew things had been difficult lately, that _she_ had been difficult. Yet, it never occurred to him that she may genuinely wish to be away from his side.

Rhaenys simply shrugs in response, yet the movement cuts deeper than any words.

 

* * *

 

„Hello, my love.“ Lyanna grins as she throws her arms around his neck. By the gods, he was so very, incredibly tired, yet the sight of her never failed to make him feel just a little bit more alive. In part, he came to her chambers with a dire intention, yet now something makes him feel the thing at hand should wait for morning.

„My sweet.“ He tells her, holding her around her waist, close. In return, Lyanna herself climbs on her toes, kisses him ravenously. With a small sigh, she returns to her heels then, and her hands reach for the buttons of his doublet.

„I can do it myself, you know.“ He tells her with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He meant it like a jest, yet the remark seemed to have come off more seriously than he intended it.

Lyanna blinks, then responds cautiously. „I like to do it, 'tis no bother.“ She clears her throat then. „How was your day?“ She asks, dropping her hands to her sides now that there were no more buttons to undo. He found himself missing it, her touch on his chest, and he regretted making her feel self-conscious about it.

„It was...complicated.“  Rhaegar finally answers, struggling in his choice of word.

„Oh.“ She says in return. „ Well, I heard about some travel preparations. Does it have anything to do with that?“

He knew that look in her eye, it was one that said _please don't leave_. She gave it to him at Harrenhal the first time, likely unaware of it herself then, and in another two instances; after he left her in the Tower of Joy and after he left her in Dragonstone. All instances in which he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to have any reason to leave, now. Perhaps, that was why he in part did what he did.

„I am not going anywhere.“ He assures her. „'Tis for Rhaenys. She is returning to Dorne with Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne. She expressed a desire for it, so I allowed it.“

„Oh.“ Lyanna says again. „So when is she coming back?“

Rhaegar gave a sigh. „She is not. At least not any time soon, apart from for a visit.“

Upon these words, her demeanor changed greatly, and visibly. „When were you going to talk to me about this?“ She finally asks, eyes blinking away with discomfort, or perhaps rage that was yet to fully bubble.

„I am talking to you about it now.“ Rhaegar says in his defence. He moves forward to place a hand on her forearm but she pulls away, taking a few steps back and finally standing at sufficient distance from which her grey eyes pinned him.

„You are talking to me about it now, that you already made the decision yourself. Had it not occurred to you to at the very least mention you were intending to do this, or to ask about my opinion? Last we spoke of this, you said you would never do such a thing, and now I first hear of any of it from a handmaiden.“ 

Seeing the defiant glint in her eye, the way her jaw moved with dissatisfaction as she expected a response, Rhaegar was not certain wherein lay the brunt of his blame: on the way the information had reached her, or on the fact itself. Either way, he did the best he could and he needed her to understand.

„Lyanna... I only made the decision today, after talking to Prince Oberyn. I did not intend to keep you in the dark...“

„So you could talk to Oberyn about this, but not me?“ She asks, her voice slightly higher as her eyes met his once more.

„I already knew your stance on the issue...“

Lyanna huffs. „And yet you are sending her away anyway. Did it not occur to you that this is my family too, and that I would wish to participate when you are making such a large decision as this? What if I did that to you, made a decision about Jon behind your back, and only have you learn of it from someone else...“

„That is not the same.“ Rhaegar cuts her off.

„It is comparable.“ Lyanna returns just as fast. Her eyes lower then, and she begins in a quieter voice. „I know I did not give birth to her, but I grew terribly fond of her nonetheless, and she is still Jon's sister. Why would you deprive the two of them of their sibling bond?“

It was difficult to explain. Rhaegar could only think about the fright in Lyanna's own eyes he witnessed that day as she held their son, intent on watching him and grateful for every single breath he took. Another image in his mind had been the permanent grimace on his daughter's face, one that only seemed to dissipate in her cousin's company, and not his own. In the past, his appearance alone would be enough to bring out a smile to her face, yet lately, she seemed nothing but disappointed to see him.

He did not know if was he was doing was best, he only knew he could not bear things to be the way they were now.

„It had to be done.“ He returns vaguely. „I have my reasons.“

„Then explain them to me, for I shall like to know.“ Lyanna fires back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her insistence, alongside his own inability to properly convey his thoughts caused a certain measure of frustration to kindle within Rhaegar, and his fists clenched. By the Gods, she was nearly the only person he wanted or could even expect understanding from, and it wounded him to be denied this.

 _But not in this matter_ , he reminded himself. She was not the one having ghosts of the ages past haunting her, the one who knew the pain of losing a child, or the experience of a loveless marriage, the guilt and shame that came along with it. Their age difference was never something he truly cared for, but now it had been glaring.

His mouth went terribly dry, and Rhaegar licked his lips before he attempted to reason with her once more. „Isn't it enough for you that I say I thought of this thoroughly and made this decision?“

„'Twas not only your decision to make!“ Lyanna replies shrilly. „'Tis only about what you think and what you do, and I am just supposed to go with it because you say so? If you wanted a compliant woman, then you married the wrong one.“

„You know that is not how it is, Lyanna...“

„I thought so too, yet it seems it takes a challenge to see where one truly stands.“ Her voice trembled now, permeated with what sounded a mixture of disappointment, pain and frustration. She seems to grow aware of the emotion overtaking, however, for she straightens her back and takes a breath before she says. „Very well. You are king, you do as you wish.“

„Lyanna...“

„Good night.“ She cuts him off sharply. Then she walks over to the bed, and curls atop her sheets, ignoring the coverlet pooling under her feet much like she did him.


	65. All Apologies | Epilogue

 

Lyanna took a breath; her fist came to hover over the surface of the Grand Maester's chamber doors, where she knocked.

„Just a moment!“ Came the voice from the other side.

As she waited for the acolyte to answer the door, Lyanna heard faint, female voices coming from around the corner. The incomprehensible murmur soon turned into clear words.

„I am telling you, everyone knows.“ One of them said. „Now she is no longer only a Northern bitch, but a barren one as well. She is only lucky she already gave birth to a son.“

The giggle of the other came to an early finish as both of them made the cut about the corner, finding themselves in the line of her piercing grey gaze. Lyanna did not know their names, and in truth, she did not desire to. Seeing their lavish dresses with countless layers and their intricate Southron hairstyles, being able to sniff the heavy sheen of perfume around them, she only wondered if they found it a sufficient enough mask for their dark hearts.

„Your grace.“ The two of them murmur in succession, bowing their heads as they scrambled for retreat.

Lyanna wanted to jerk them back around by their elbows, tell them to get it through their vain heads that being called a bitch was no insult; to the contrary, a she-wolf from the North could tear through anything with her teeth, including whatever measly marker of plant or lesser animal their petty houses' sigils bore. She wanted to tell them that a she-wolf's worth was not only in the number of pups she bore, but also in how well she could protect them, and a she-wolf could, better and fiercer than any other animal. Lyanna wanted to rip all their hair out or at least scream at them, yet she did not know why she didn't.

She smiled with the corner of her mouth instead, the teeth behind struggling against her tongue enough to draw blood.

„Your grace, why didn't you say anything?“ Ser Jaime inquired at her side, sounding almost disappointed.

„I don't know.“ Lyanna returns through gritted teeth. „Why didn't you?“ Her gaze fell to the long blade hung against Ser Jaime's hip, a sword she knew was as sharp as anyone could forge it, polished to the highest shine and made out of the strongest, highest quality castle steel. Had it been within her sights, Lyanna thinks she might have swung it at the hens herself.

„'Tis not my place.“ Ser Jaime responds, snapping her attention back to his features. „If they had a knife, on the other hand...“ He says with a soft smirk, leaving the rest to her imagination. For some reason, Lyanna found the remark helpful.

„Your Grace.“ The startled voice comes from newly open doors. The new acolyte, a young boy perhaps Benjen's age, bows deeply. „Your Grace, my sincerest apologies. I was not aware I was keeping you waiting. Usually, a servant is sent on behalf of anyone in the royal family...“

Lyanna was aware of this, it was just that she preferred running her errands herself. At least it proved itself to be a valid excuse for leaving her chambers. Something Lyanna suddenly regretted.

„'Tis no trouble.“ She whispered, hoping to ease the boy's mind. „Is Grand Maester Pycelle there?“

„He is, Your Grace.“ The acolyte returned. „If it please Your Grace.“ He waved a hand toward the inside of the Grand Maester's working chambers. Lyanna nodded and picked up her skirts, only sending a short glance Ser Jaime's way who turned his back and remained at his post.

 

* * *

 

„Your Grace.“ The Grand Maester Pycelle drawled in a sickly voice, offering a nod. „I understand you wished for my services.“

„I did.“ Lyanna replied simply. Truth be told, it had been rather odd requesting services from a maester, given that Lyanna spent most of her life avoiding the Maester Walys of Winterfell, the elderly, knowledgeable man who was always trying to make her learn things. Too bad Lyanna was never much of an attentive student.

„I...Well I wanted to ask what exactly it was that...“ Lyanna sighed, unsure how to phrase this. „ _Why_ exactly it is that I cannot bear anymore children.“ The maester told her and Rhaegar both in the past it was near to impossible, but he never went into specifics. The ambiguity troubled her; Lyanna wanted to know the exact cause, and whether there was anything that could be done.

„Well, Your Grace...“ the maester began. „With all due respect, it is fairly difficult to explain. You see, the fact of the matter is that a womb is a very delicate, complicated thing, that can take damage through many courses, thus disallowing seed to take root. One of such is, of course, a difficult childbirth.“

„Aye, but how do you know such has happened? I haven't even tried to conceive again...“ Lyanna remembered what the midwife told her, that a woman could not conceive another child as long as there were a suckling babe at her breast. The maester's conclusions seemed rather rushed.

Pycelle grumbles. „Your Grace, with all respect, 'tis my years' long experience that is making me inclined to suspect so. In any case, I do acquiesce that we cannot know for certain until we know if your moon's blood is likely to return, but even that would not guarantee...“

„I did have my moon's blood.“ Lyanna insisted. Not patient enough to wait, she took a weeks long break from nursing Jon, allowing him to the wet-nurse instead, and indeed, her moon's blood appeared as soon as she could have expected it.

 The Grand Maester seemed surprised at this. „Good. That is fairly good.“ He grumbled. He rubbed his white beard, then started walking rather hastily for his age until he reached a cabinet, where he seemed to scramble for something. He spoke as his back was turned away from her.

„Your Grace, if that is so, then we may attempt treatment with a fertility potion. It is far from guaranteed that it would work, I must warn you, though I have seen a successful case or two.“

He turned around, bearing a small glass vial with sapphire-blue liquid in it. He handed it to her and in turn Lyanna inspected the little bottle with kind eyes, marveling at what it could give her. Likely seeing her reaction, Pycelle cleared his throat.

„I do warn you, Your Grace, this is more likely not to work than otherwise. I am usually not a fan of such potions, for I found they often give false hope at best. However, a chance is worth taking if it would mean another prince for the Targaryen dynasty.“

A little silver-haired prince or a princess, that was all Lyanna wanted. Only another one, a little sibling for Jon was all she wished for, and then she would relieve the Old Gods from the burden of her prayers. And perhaps then, some at this court would be forced to eat their words.

„One to two drops in your morning cup of water or tea should do the trick.“ The Grand Maester recommended. „More than that may be harmful in other ways. And of course, keep the vial away from Prince Jon.“

„I will. Thank you, Grand Maester.“ Lyanna returned as she hopped from the examining table. Making her way to the doors, she gazed to the little vial in her left hand. Lyanna bit her lip, thinking she would take it later; after all, there was another matter that needed her attendance now.

 

* * *

 

 „May I come in?“ Lyanna heard her own voice reverberate through the otherwise silent room. A soft hum of an echo was all she received until Rhaegar's voice finally reached her. „Do as you like.“

His words had been permitting, but his tone was less so. He'd been sitting behind a desk, hunched over an old-looking book without sparing her a glance. To her side, the doors to his bedchamber were open, and beyond them, the black silken sheets were in disarray. _So this was where he slept last night._

Reaching his desk, Lyanna came to stand behind him. The sturdy desk always held plenty of things, many books and papers and feathers and inkwells, though Lyanna never paid much attention to any of them. Now, she brushed her fingertips against the spine of a book, perhaps attempting to distract herself from the suffocating silence.

When it further became apparent he would not speak, Lyanna forced herself into uttering the first words.

„You never returned to bed last night.“ She tells him, hand gingerly brushing the silver tresses at the nape of his neck. Rhaegar, however, did not seem to enjoy the touch for he craned his neck away until she retreated her fingers.

„You made it quite clear you didn't want me there.“ He returns, voice even and cold as a winter's breeze.

His tone wounded, yet, Lyanna could hardly blame him for her own heated temper or her hastily pronounced words. After all, only once her indignation cleared did she consider how hard this decision must have been for him. Her accusations had been ungrounded; after all, he'd always been incredibly kind, so gentle and compassionate to everyone and especially her. It was her anger of last night that had the poor effect of making her say stupid things.

„I know.“ She returns solemnly. „I am sorry.“

The apology does not seem to gain her any words in return. Tilting her head, Lyanna saw that his gaze was fixed before him, to a page of the large book that lay open on the table. „What are you reading there?“ She asked, attempting to create at least some conversation.

„The History of the Seven Kingdoms.“ He replies plainly.

„Why?“ Lyanna asked the first thing that came to her mind; she despised history, after all, and could not fathom someone studying it for entertainment.

„Those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it.“ He returns just as level, not looking up at her yet still. Lyanna almost felt there was a double meaning to the words, yet she was too frazzled to try to decipher it.

„Rhaegar,“ she began tentatively. „look at me.“

The invitation seems to leave him conflicted, but he finally does it; those dark indigo eyes rise and calmly rest on her own.

„I am truly sorry. I didn't mean it.“ She tells him regretful, urging him to reconcile with her. „Forgive me, please.“

Silence. Lyanna needed him to forgive her; she did not know for how long she would bear his chilly stares or her empty bed. He was all Lyanna had after all, and if she were to lose him, who else would care for her or even offer her a kind word in this god-forsaken court? Sure, she had her little Jon, but he was but a babe. There had been Brandon also, and Ashara who had just recently wedded him without much pomp, but Lyanna was no longer a child so that her brother was always there to ruffle her hair at breakfast time.

Lyanna recalled her harsh words costing her a lot less in childhood – only a return of harsher words from her brothers until both sides felt like the debt was paid and the incident would be forgotten like it had never occurred.

Rhaegar was not like that – he was gentle above all, and thoughtful. He always chose his words carefully, and thus could not fathom anyone doing any less.

„I should have told you.“ He finally murmurs, lowering his head. „I should have. But I spend all day, every day, explaining myself to gods and men and countless lords and 'tis tiring. I cannot stand to quarrel with you atop it all.“

„I know. I'm sorry.“ Lyanna tells him; she tried her best for her breath not to hitch but it does. „You see, I... I'm just...at times a whole day passes by and I do very little, and talk to so few people, and at times I forget...“

„Come here.“ He invites, extending a hand for her to take. Lyanna did, soon finding herself in the comfort of his lap. „Hush now.“ He tells her, unable to hide his compassion any longer. „'Tis alright. I just pray you don't truly think that way of me. You must know in how high regard I hold you.“

Lyanna thought she could hardly bear the relief of his kindness; her mouth curled into a pout despite herself and her eyes watered.

„Hush, sweetling, hush.“ He comforts her so dearly, cradling her head to his chest. The scent of him and his even breathing, it had all been soothing beyond belief, and when he kissed the top of her head, Lyanna could not help but think everything was right again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant: <http://www.tearsofblood.org/#!sapphires/c5zk>
> 
> Also, as I said before, don't be scared this is labeled an epilogue, it's only end of this first part. I wanted to make it one that ends with a certain level of indeterminacy and optimism both (hope that worked), but the story very much continues with a sequel. In any case, thank you all who stayed with me through all these chapters and Happy New Year!
> 
>  


End file.
